


Through a Glass, Darkly

by glimmerglanger



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Darksider Anakin, Darksider Obi-Wan, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mirror Universe, Pining, Plot, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 49,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24536872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: Obi-Wan had gotten to within an arm’s length of him. But it wasn’t...really Obi-Wan. He wore robes similar to his usual style, true enough. But they were splattered with something dark and wet. His hair was longer. His face was clean-shaven. He frowned across at Anakin, tilting his head to the side, and started, “Anakin, are you--”OR, the one where Anakin gets lost in a universe that isn't... quite right and has to find his way home.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 236
Kudos: 988





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сквозь тусклое стекло](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27058264) by [ttimsshel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttimsshel/pseuds/ttimsshel)



> The Mirror Universe AU! It got way longer than anticipated (pushing 45k!) so I'm posting it in three chapters over the coming couple of days.

Obi-Wan would have been an archaeologist in another life, Anakin decided as they moved through the dilapidated ruins of some ancient structure. The catacombs had been opened by the Separatist bombings on Ghulluvia. He and Obi-wan had hidden a portion of the populace within them, during the attacks.

The Separatists had been driven away, at least temporarily. The locals had returned to the surface. Technically, Obi-Wan and Anakin should have been aboard the  _ Negotiator  _ and the  _ Peacemaker _ , moving on to the next battlefield.

Instead, Anakin climbed over a crumbling stone wall, moving deeper into the ruins, listening to Obi-Wan as he said, “These markings are  _ very  _ interesting, I’m sure I’ve seen something similar before, I just can’t recall where it was.”

“Fascinating,” Anakin said, turning in a slow circle to look around the vast chamber they’d entered. It was dark, the only light came from the torches that they’d brought with them. The ceiling was so far up he could only see the suggestion of it. The space echoed a bit with each step, and dust swirled at their movements, curling up their legs.

“I’m going to get some holos,” Obi-Wan said, moving off to one side, not quite trailing his fingers across the walls. It had been an age and a half since Anakin had seen him in such a relaxed state, simply happy to look at some dead people’s buildings. He swallowed back a preemptive complaint; they could have been  _ sleeping _ , but... Anakin said nothing, wandering off in the opposite direction in the hopes of finding something even marginally exciting.

Force knew Obi-Wan deserved to take a few holos of some old rocks if he wanted. Anakin missed seeing him smile, watching him relax, spending time with him doing something that didn’t put both of their lives at risk, even if that was it’s own form of torture. 

He knew he shouldn’t  _ want  _ to see Obi-Wan pleased as much as he did. Everything he’d been taught said nothing good was going to come of wanting to hoard their quiet moments alone and enjoying the way Obi-Wan’s eyes gleamed when he was interested in some old rocks. But they were the last pieces of joy Anakin had left in the galaxy.

Ahsoka had gone; she wouldn’t be waiting for them up above, either complaining about being left behind or relieved they’d gone without her. The war simply would not relent. He’d argued with Padmé last time they spoke--

He shook the thoughts away. There were so many weights and troubles swirling around through his head. He could be forgiven, he thought, for wanting to listen to Obi-Wan talk about dead cultures and forgotten languages while his hair fell forward and he drew shapes in the air with his hands.

“There’s another chamber over here,” he called, over his shoulder, stepping through a fine, arching doorway. He swept his light across the room beyond; years of fighting had taught him to approach everything as though it were going to kill him, regardless of how unlikely that seemed. “I’m going to check it out.”

“Let me know what you find,” Obi-Wan said, and he felt so  _ content  _ that Anakin could sense it, radiating out into the chambers around them. Maybe they’d get  _ really _ lucky and find some worms that Obi-Wan could examine, as well. Anakin snorted, at Obi-Wan and at himself, sweeping his light through the room again. Something reflected, deeper into the space, the first sign of anything that wasn’t stone. He raised an eyebrow and moved towards it.

“Do you know,” Obi-Wan said, voice echoing, taking on strange reverberations that made it almost unfamiliar, “I’ve just remembered where I saw these markings before? I think there’s something similar under the Temple, carved right into the stone.”

“On Coruscant?” Anakin called back, approaching the glinting object. It was set directly into the wall, a piece of shining black stone, easily a foot taller than him and just as wide. There were carvings all over and a number of raised pedestals around it. Anakin brushed the dust off of one of the pedestals, absently, and it thrummed under his hand. “Uh.”

“What ‘uh’?” Obi-Wan demanded, tone getting suddenly sharper. 

“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” Anakin said, hearing Obi-Wan mutter a curse, the words echoing into his chamber. He took his hand away from the pedestal, and the floor beneath his feet shook. And that was a concern, it was, but it was a concern that felt far away, because when Anakin glanced up, the surface in front of him looked much different.

No longer was it a flat plane of shining black. It had--gained reflective properties, somehow. He blinked across at himself, a tang of alarm in the back of his throat, because he wasn’t, really, looking across at  _ himself _ .

The man in the reflection had the same hair, wore the same - or very similar - robes, even had the same scar across his brow. But his mouth was twisted into a fierce scowl. And his eyes were golden and sharp. He - the double - looked Anakin up and down, and seemed confused.

“Oh, yes, not a big deal,” Obi-Wan said, dry and sharp, from somewhere far away. The ground was still moving. Dust fell across Anakin’s shoulders, followed by larger pieces of rock. “We ought to get out of here. Anakin?”

Anakin said, “In a click,” absently. The other him, the one in the surface, did not move his mouth. Not a reflection, then. Something else. And Obi-Wan wasn’t the only member of their team with a fierce streak of curiosity.

Anakin stepped closer to the surface. His double hesitated for a moment, and then moved as well, until Anakin was right in front of the piece of stone and his double seemed to be, impossibly, right on the other side.

Anakin looked him up and down. This close, he swore he could see things - larger rocks - falling through the other side of the surface. He tilted his head to the side, frowning, meeting his double’s golden eyes, finally.

“Hey,” he said, quietly, not sure what was happening, aware the chamber was beginning to shake with increased force. His double shifted on the other side, raising a hand - gloved - and holding it up, flat against the surface.

And if Anakin didn’t do the same, he’d be wondering what would have happened if he had his entire life. He mirrored the gesture after only a second’s consideration, expecting to feel only cool stone, to stare for a moment longer into his double’s eyes before fleeing the collapsing ruins, inevitably having to apologize to Obi-Wan once they reached the surface for somehow destroying the ancient site, and--

And none of that was what happened.

Anakin pressed his hand against the stone and it was bitterly cold, even through his glove. The cold raced up his arm, sharp and cutting, and he tried to jerk his arm away, crying out. He could not move his palm off of the stone.

He brought his other hand up as the pain spread into his chest, looking across into the face of his double, looking into eyes so alike and so different from his own, and then--

Then there was only pain, for a long, long moment. When it eased, he felt cold all over, leaning his weight against the stone. His heart was beating too quickly and off-rhythm. He breathed raggedly, dizzy, and pushed away from the stone.

It wasn’t reflective - or whatever - anymore. It just looked like black stone. He flexed his fingers in and out, and, from close behind him, Obi-Wan said, “Dear one, what are you doing? We need to  _ go _ , now.”

Anakin turned to glance at him, becoming aware that the shaking under foot had become much more severe. Huge chunks of stone were falling around them. He opened his mouth to explain, and the words died in his throat.

Obi-Wan had gotten to within an arm’s length of him. But it wasn’t...really Obi-Wan. He wore robes similar to his usual style, true enough. But they were splattered with something dark and wet. His hair was longer. His face was clean-shaven. He frowned across at Anakin, tilting his head to the side, and started, “Anakin, are you--”

The entire chamber tilted to the side, before he could finish the thought. He swore, softly, reaching out to grab onto Anakin’s arm, turning and tugging him towards the door. And there was no time to ask what the kriff was going on. The immediate threat of being crushed to death prevented that.

Anakin had no choice but to run, following this strange not-Obi-Wan, through ruins that seemed familiar, at first. It was only as they moved out of the collapsing lower levels that things grew strange and then horrifying.

Not-Obi-Wan stepped over the first of the bodies they came across without hesitation. It was a woman, holding a child. They were both… quite thoroughly dead, laying discarded against the stone like nothing more than rubbish.

Anakin knew lightsaber wounds when he saw them, and swallowed bile in his throat, trying to process it as they turned a corner into a hall full of more bodies, entering one of the chambers where they’d hid refugees and--

And they were  _ all dead _ , every single one of them, down to the smallest child. The room stank of blood and fear and the sweet beginnings of rot. Anakin swayed to a stop, horror climbing up the back of his neck, looking across faces he’d seen a few hours ago. They’d been  _ alive _ , then, though, alive and grateful for the protection of the Republic. They’d been--

“Anakin,” not-Obi-Wan said, tone strange, tugging on his arm, “we don’t have time to admire your work.” And Anakin thought he would be ill, right there, his gut clenching hard as revulsion rolled out through his chest, stunned enough to allow not-Obi-Wan to pull him into motion, to drag him up through the collapsing tunnels, into the clear, bright air of the world’s surface.

This had to be a dream, he thought, hazily. He’d been struck on the head by a rock and he was unconscious. Obi-Wan - the real Obi-Wan - was likely dragging his body up through the tunnels, no doubt complaining about it the entire time.

This had to be a dream, because in the real world, the surface of the planet was not wreathed in choking fumes. In the real world, there were not bodies scattered outside the mouth of the cave. In the real world, they’d saved these people, they were--

“What’s wrong with you, darling?” not-Obi-Wan asked, as Anakin panted for breath. He was close, so close, touching Anakin’s cheek, his expression concerned and soft and -- Force. Force, his eyes were golden, bright and clear and sharp. He tilted his head to the side. “Are you hurt?”

“Your eyes,” he managed, because Obi-Wan’s eyes were so blue, the blue of the kriffing sky, not - not this corrupted color. Obi-Wan never put hands on his face, not in a way that felt proprietary. Obi-Wan never called him  _ darling _ .

Not-Obi-Wan blinked and then smiled at him, the same, blinding smile he’d always used, sliding even closer, his other arm curling up, around Anakin’s neck. His voice was lower, pleased, when he murmured, “My eyes what?” Anakin felt frozen in place, not sure what was going on, what had happened, as not-Obi-Wan pushed up onto the balls of his feet, mouth brushing Anakin’s when he asked, “Have they left you speechless?”

And Anakin had - perhaps - had dreams where Obi-Wan kissed him. He had - perhaps - imagined the way Obi-Wan would taste, the soft fullness of his mouth. He had - perhaps - thought about tilting Obi-Wan’s jaw just so and kissing the breath from his lungs.

Everything was strange and wrong, but for a jarring moment the dizzy want and surprise beat his confusion back. For a moment, he sunk into the kiss, desire short-circuiting all of his better impulses, because, oh, not-Obi-Wan melted in his touch, making hungry little sounds that Anakin wanted to chase down, and maybe this was a dream, one that had started strange and terrible, but that was hardly unusual for Anakin.

And most of his terrible dreams did not take such a turn into pleasantness. Perhaps he ought to take advantage of the rare chance of getting something he wanted, even be it in a dream. But--

But he had no time to grapple with the wrongness of the situation, not when blaster fire began raining down around them. “Kriff,” he snapped, and something automatic in his bones had him twisting, shoving not-Obi-Wan back a step as he drew his saber and lit it and--

And perhaps he should have expected the blood-red blade that extended from the handle, but he hadn’t. Seeing it was an unpleasant, horrifying shock, one he shoved down harshly, deflecting blaster bolts back towards their attackers.

“Kriff,” not-Obi-Wan said, and sounded… strange, again. “I was sure there were no more rebels in the area.” He lit his own saber, terrible and red, and sighed. “Come on, then. We had best handle this.”

“But,” Anakin started, because he didn’t know what was going on, but he did not want to handle some kriffing rebels, not with the red lightsaber in his hand. And he had an awful feeling that moving further away from the strange ruins wasn’t going to do him any favors in the long run.

“No buts,” not-Obi-Wan said, with a fond, impatient twist to his mouth. “I let you have your fun earlier--” Anakin thought of the caverns, nausea twisted up through his gut “--now we need to finish this. Quickly. No playing around this time, darling”

Anakin did not want to kill any of the people attacking them. He didn’t even know who the people attacking them  _ were _ , but apparently he’d slaughtered caverns full of people, and… And he wished he would wake up, he kept wishing he would wake up as he followed not-Obi-Wan forward.

He deflected blaster bolts away, out into the air, his spine prickling as he listened to people yell from the surrounding hills. He could have hit them, any of them - half of them looked like  _ kids _ \- and the idea was horrifying.

He wondered if he - but it hadn’t been him, not really - had killed their families in that cavern, and not-Obi-Wan shoved him to the side, batted away a blaster bolt aimed at his head, and said, “Anakin! Fall back, I’ll handle this, you’re obviously in no shape to fight.”

Anakin thought he should probably argue. He’d never let Obi-Wan face so many combatants on his own. But this wasn’t his Obi-Wan. None of this was right, and Anakin didn’t want to--to kill  _ children _ , not--

“Go!” not-Obi-Wan snapped at him, and Anakin turned, stumbling back towards the entrance of the caves, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d go back down. He’d go back to the chamber with the rock, touch it again, go back home. He’d--

The entrance was full of stone. All the bodies within were buried, alongside the stone that might have gotten him out of this nightmare. Anakin stared at the stones, panting hard, shaking, listening to the blasters go quiet.

It happened so quickly.

He was impressed and horrified, all at the same time. He tasted vomit in his mouth, the taste still there as not-Obi-Wan came around the curve of the path, his lightsaber hanging off his belt. He looked out-of-sorts, his hair covered in dust, his robes charred, here and there. For a second, Anakin could have sworn his eyes were blue, that everything was normal again, but--

“How badly are you hurt?” not-Obi-Wan asked as he approached, coming right into Anakin’s space, hands on Anakin’s jaw and shoulder, frowning.

“I’m fine,” Anakin said, automatically. He was fine, after all. It was everything else that was wrong.

Not-Obi-Wan frowned, shaking his head. “You need to see a medic. Don’t argue, darling. We’re late to return to camp, anyway.”

He turned and began walking, stopping after a moment when Anakin failed to budge. Anakin swallowed the lump in his throat, cast one last look at the collapsed tunnel, and moved forward, falling into step beside this twisted version of Obi-Wan and wishing, desperately, that he knew what the kriff was going on.

#

Obi-Wan swore under his breath when the caves started to shake in earnest. Anakin was still in the side-chamber. Obi-Wan moved towards it, irritation over the potential destruction of the site thwarted only slightly by the fact that they were  _ in it _ , that he’d dragged Anakin down there with the desire to explore and - perhaps - get a few moments to breathe without the war closing in around them, and-- 

He leaned against the door to the chamber and repeated, “Anakin, we really, truly need to go.”

Anakin was standing, touching a portion of the wall, in the midst of several pedestals. He turned his head, looking around the space as though just realizing that they were in the midst of a massive seismic event. His gaze fell on Obi-Wan, looking him up and down, a little frown flitting across his mouth before he asked, “Obi-Wan?”

“Are you alright? Did you hit your head?” Obi-Wan asked, moving forward into the chamber. Knowing their luck, Anakin was probably stuck. Obi-Wan had wanted only a few moments of peace, but they were never to be permitted such a thing, it appeared.

Anakin turned to frown back at the wall, but only for a moment, before he said, “No, I’m fine. I just--”

The floor shifted under their feet, then, one side tilting alarmingly over. Obi-Wan swore, bracing to keep his balance, and Anakin was just  _ there _ , grabbing hold of him and leaping across the room, into the larger chamber, not even pausing before he started running. Obi-Wan had no choice but to run, or risk being dragged along by the arm.

The entire structure was coming down in earnest, huge hunks of rock falling from the ceiling as they ran. Anakin kept a grip on his arm, hauling him forward, which was for the best, potentially. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, yet.

He wasn’t sure about anything, yet, because when Anakin first grabbed him it sent a shudder through him, his skin rising into gooseflesh as a creeping shadow spread into his thoughts. Anakin felt wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong. 

Obi-Wan had been around the corruption of the Dark Side often enough to recognize it, and it radiated off of Anakin. It had not, moments before. There was no time to think about it as they fled through the tunnels, up to the surface, sliding to a stop as a wave of dust and dirt swirled out around them.

Obi-Wan turned his head to the side, coughing briefly. Anakin - though the man was  _ not  _ Anakin, Obi-Wan felt increasingly sure - still held his arm, fingers pressing in hard. He was looking around, a frown on his face, his eyes flat. And red. He tugged against Anakin’s hold, just to see what would happen, and the grip only tightened.

“Where am I?” the man with Anakin’s face asked, tone sharp. He turned to look at Obi-Wan, finally, and his scowl deepened, something like true rage passing across his features. “What have you done with Obi-Wan?”

“I  _ am  _ Obi-Wan,” he said, ignoring the pain when the grip on his arm tightened further. “I think a better question might be--”

He never got to broach his better question, because Anakin’s… shadow had drawn his lightsaber, igniting it in one smooth motion, and only years of constant saber practice gave Obi-Wan enough time to kick him, hard enough to get him to release his grip.

Obi-Wan spun back, his own saber in hand, even as he said, “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He’d wanted Anakin to have the chance to  _ relax _ , he knew that Ahsoka’s loss still stung Anakin, he’d thought, perhaps, they might even be able to talk about it, if he only gave Anakin the chance to open up--

“Don’t worry,” the shadow said, a sneer on his face, stalking forward, “you won’t.”

And then there was nothing but the fight. The shadow moved like Anakin in many ways, but not exactly. He was more aggressive, somehow. There was a brutal quality to each blow, to each movement, no real sense of finesse. It threw Obi-Wan off, after so long sparring with an Anakin who fought  _ one  _ way…

His only saving grace was that the shadow appeared just as thrown off. He moved like he was used to fighting someone much like Obi-Wan, someone who did not move in quite the same ways, and Obi-Wan had a  _ terrible  _ feeling about what was going on, one he could not tease out fully while parrying blows, spinning close and away, giving ground, waiting for the shadow to wear out.

No one could maintain the pace he’d set for long. He was expending too much energy, something Obi-Wan had warned him - but not him - about, and--

And the Force lightning was a surprise he should have seen coming. Obi-Wan caught it with the blade of his saber, the movement automatic, and shoved out with his other hand, knocking the shadow back a step. “Oh,” he said, shaking the tingle out of his arm as the lightning dissipated, “enough of this.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” the shadow snarled, and charged him, violence written all over every inch of his frame, and the next moments were nothing but impacts, desperate parries, and exchanges of blows that left Obi-Wan breathing hard, swaying on his feet, but with the shadow on the ground, scowling up at him, wiping blood off of his mouth.

Obi-Wan kept his saber trained on the shadow, panting, resisting the urge to cradle his arm to his chest, and said, “We’re done, do you understand?”

The shadow frowned up at him, but there was something besides hatred in his expression, something… curious. An interest that moved across his features even as he licked his bloody lower lip. “I understand,” he said. “But you should know, if you’ve hurt Obi-Wan in any way, I’m going to kill you.” He tilted his head to the side. “Slowly.”

Obi-Wan shuddered. “I think,” he said, “you and I need to have a discussion. You can start by telling me exactly what happened, down in the caves.”

#

Anakin followed not-Obi-Wan along a path that had looked far less forbidding last time he walked it. He avoided glancing towards the hills where the firefight had occurred. He didn’t want to see the bodies inevitably left scattered around. He didn’t want to believe that Obi-Wan, even this version of him, could have done such a thing, it was…

Obscene.

He buried those thoughts as they walked, trying, instead, to figure out how to fix whatever the kriff had gone so wrong. He almost exhaled in relief when they turned a corner into what had - previously - been the bombed out wreckage of a city.

In this place - whatever it was, Anakin had always hated holo stories about parallel realities, but he was running out of options to explain that the kriff was going on - the city was still standing. There were gates around it. And guarding those gates were familiar figures in white armor.

They were, apparently, performing some kind of check on everyone trying to get through the gates. There was a line stretching back the road. Anakin recognized some of the people in it; he’d saved their lives, in another place.

They looked… different. Hungry. Tired. They were wearing scraps of poorly made clothing. Most of them had no shoes. They did not look at him as not-Obi-Wan led him down the line; they, it seemed, were cutting to the front. Someone muttered something as they passed, Anakin caught the general gist, but before he could turn to look - shocked by the viciousness of the profanity - not-Obi-Wan had sped up. 

Anakin hurried to follow, ignoring the itch between his shoulders that said someone was glaring daggers at him. As they reached the gates, one of the troopers pulled a boy out of line. He was tall, rangy, all arms and legs, skin stretched too tight over bones. A woman - older - lurched after him, arms reaching out as she cried, “Wait, wait, please, we only forgot his papers, that’s all, if you just let us in today, we can bring them tomorrow--”

Anakin jerked as the trooper shoved the boy to the ground, reaching for his blaster, and Anakin had a flash of horror, of knowing he could not watch this happen. He stiffened, hand drifting towards the lightsaber on his belt.

Not-Obi-Wan stepped forward before Anakin could grab it, saying, tone almost bored, “I require an explanation for why Master Skywalker and I were attacked out on the hills.”

The trooper who had a hand on his blaster turned, and the boy scrambled to his feet. The trooper made to grab for him, and not-Obi-Wan continued, scowling as he moved forward, “Your men were ordered to clear that area while we handled the caves. Do you have an explanation, soldier?”

The trooper straightened, ignoring the boy, who scrambled through the currently unguarded gate with the older woman. Anakin watched them go, wishing them luck. He had the feeling they were going to need it. “I don’t know, sir,” the trooper was saying, when Anakin glanced over at them, “we swept the hills. They must have had a bolthole. We’ll go and find--”

“We took care of the problem,” not-Obi-Wan cut in, tone pleasant enough. “I do try to be patient, but forcing me to do your job for you would be… a poor decision. Do you understand me?”

The trooper jerked out a nod, stepping back when not-Obi-Wan moved forward. “Yes, sir,” he said, snapping off a salute as they moved into the city.

Anakin almost turned and ran out into the hills. Maybe he could find some more of these rebels. But he still didn’t know what was going on. His gut said that not-Obi-Wan was his best option for getting some answers.

The city stank of despair and waste. The doors to all the buildings were closed. Many of the windows had been boarded over. There were a few stalls, sitting alongside the road, each looking more ragged than the last. The people running the stalls and the people patronizing them kept their eyes averted. 

He followed not-Obi-Wan through the winding streets, his heart pounding, all the way to a shipyard that had no longer existed where Anakin came from. Not-Obi-Wan led him through a number of transports that looked familiar, to a low, sleek ship. It looked  _ fast _ . And vicious, all sharp lines and slashes of red.

Not-Obi-Wan opened the door and tilted his chin, gesturing Anakin into the ship. Anakin hesitated and said, “I thought we were going to the medics.”

Not-Obi-Wan shrugged. “You seem better,” he said, “and I know you hate the medics. You probably just need some rest.” Anakin hesitated, just for a moment. He had a bad feeling about - about everything, but there were no better options before him, so he stepped into the ship. 

Not-Obi-Wan followed him, the hatch closing at his back. It left Anakin’s eyes adjusting to the dim light as not-Obi-Wan said, “Darling?”

Anakin turned and froze as the barrel of a blaster pressed, hard, under his jaw. He stared up into not-Obi-Wan’s golden eyes, into an expression terribly familiar, into Obi-Wan’s face when he was very worried about something. Anakin asked, heart banging at his lungs, “What are you doing?”

Not-Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, gaze searching across Anakin’s expression. He said, ignoring Anakin’s question, “You’re a good copy. But not that good.” The blaster in his hand hummed, building a charge. “Who are you? And what have you done with Anakin?”

“I--I  _ am  _ Anakin,” he said, considering their positions, the saber at his belt, the saber at not-Obi-Wan’s belt. 

Not-Obi-Wan’s mouth crooked. He looked strange, without his beard. He said, “No, you’re not. You didn’t even get the eyes right. And you weren’t trained very well, were you? Did they not ever teach you to kiss?”

Anakin frowned, briefly, even with not-Obi-Wan holding a gun against his throat. He said, distracted, “I kiss just fine.”

Not-Obi-Wan glanced at his mouth, snorted, and said, “Debatable. Anakin Skywalker kisses me like he means it. However, your failure to manage even the barest of covers isn’t what we’re discussing right now.” He shifted, something in his bearing changing, making the hair stand up on the back of Anakin’s neck. “You’ll tell me what you’ve done with him, right now, and I promise I’ll make your death quick and painless. Make me drag it out of you, and, well. Neither of us will enjoy it very much. But it will most definitely hurt you more than it hurts me.”

His tone stayed friendly and calm the entire time. Controlled. Anakin had heard him use that tone hundreds of times, during negotiations or on the battlefield. He sounded so much like himself while threatening to, what, torture Anakin for information? Anakin asked, horrified, “What’s  _ wrong  _ with you?”

Not-Obi-Wan sighed. He said, “Fine, we’ll do it the hard way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He eased back a step, keeping the blaster on Anakin, and Anakin was Force damned if he was going to let some broken version of Obi-Wan torture him.

Maybe this was a dream and maybe it wasn’t. And if it was, if he died, then he’d wake up, be free of this horrific corruption of everything he knew. He straightened his back and said, “None of this is right. You’re not right.”

“Right, wrong,” not-Obi-Wan said, “I’m not really interested in your opinions. Now, if you’ll--”

Anakin lunged for the blaster, expecting that not-Obi-Wan would pull the trigger, put a hole through his shoulder, but he could live through that, and--

And not-Obi-Wan  _ hesitated _ . Anakin watched him, a second’s delay, as though he could not bring himself to pull the trigger. And then Anakin had a hand on the blaster, shoving it up towards the ceiling. Not-Obi-Wan swore, shoving at him with the Force, but Anakin had anticipated  _ that _ , at least.

He knew how Obi-Wan fought. And this copy, this double, this  _ whatever-it-was _ , fought like Obi-Wan, all fluid motion and defense. They scrambled and shoved at one another, falling into a rhythm, and it felt almost like a sparring session, for a moment, until Anakin found himself staring at not-Obi-Wan through the crossed blades of two red lightsabers.

It startled him, enough that not-Obi-Wan managed to shove him back a step, kicking out at Anakin’s legs, and there was no way Anakin was going down on his own. He reached out, the Force drawn tight around him, and managed to grip at not-Obi-Wan. They landed hard on the deck, Anakin shifting his grip, fingers curled around not-Obi-Wan’s throat, his lightsaber still in hand.

Not-Obi-Wan blinked up at him, eyes clear and sharp, a bruise blossoming up across one side of his face. They had not been gentle with one another, or the ship. Anakin heard things hissing behind them, ominously. Not nothing seemed ready to explode, and, anyway, he couldn’t go check on the damage.

He kept his grip on not-Obi-Wan’s throat, sprawled over him, and not-Obi-Wan panted, “What  _ are  _ you? No clone should be able to fight like that.”

“I’m Anakin Skywalker,” Anakin gritted out, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat and the ache in his chest, because you weren’t supposed to hurt in dreams, and he hurt in a dozen places from blows landed by not-Obi-Wan, “and - and you think I am, too. At least a little, or you would have said something to the troopers. So - so, can we just stop trying to kill each other long enough for you to help me figure out what the kriff is going on here?”

#

Obi-Wan listened to the shadow describe what had happened in the caves and wondered how much he could believe. The idea that he’d touched some pillar and then seen a version of himself on the other side of a piece of stone sounded mad. The idea that he’d then reached out and touched the stone, though, with no idea what would happen, sounded very much like Anakin.

Obi-Wan dragged a hand back through his hair, glancing over at the collapsed tunnels with a deepening feeling of dread. He said, quietly, “You’re not the Anakin that belongs here.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” the shadow asked, leaning on one arm, eyeing him with those bloody red eyes.

Obi-Wan ground his back teeth together, trying to fight off the headache building in his temples. “It means,” he said, “that… that I think you were dragged across. From wherever you came from. And my Anakin was dragged across to your… world.”

The shadow snorted. “That’s not possible.”

“One would think,” Obi-Wan said, with a gesture around, “and yet. Are you telling me that I seem right to you?”

The shadow frowned, looked him up and down, and said, “No. You’re - wrong. But the rebels have gotten ahold of cloning technology. They’ve been giving us trouble, trying to slip in sleeper agents.”

Obi-Wan repressed a shudder. Every mention the shadow made of his universe of origin was horrifying in some new and terrible way. “You said yourself, I don’t look--”

The shadow waved a hand, languidly. “Relax,” he said, “I know you’re not a clone. You may be a bit different, but you still feel like you’re mine. They can’t clone  _ that _ .” Obi-Wan stared at him, taken off guard all over again 

“I--” he started, and stopped at a strange noise on the edge of his hearing. He turned, scanning the horizon, and raised a hand towards his comm. “Commander,” he said, quietly. “Have you noticed any Separatist movement in the area?”

“No, sir,” Cody answered, only a moment later. “Everything’s been quiet, it’s--”

Obi-Wan lost track of the conversation when the shadow lunged at him, all at once. Obi-Wan made to pivot away, but the shadow was already there, shoving him and--

And a blaster bolt cut through the air where Obi-Wan’s head had been, a moment before. The shadow was already moving, lightsaber in hand, deflecting bolts while Cody demanded information over the radio. Obi-Wan snapped a brief update, igniting his own saber, watching a wave of droids crest over the hill.

The shadow didn’t ask questions. Didn’t request an explanation. Perhaps they fought droids in his rightful place, too. He only moved forward - movements smooth and predatory - and Obi-Wan leapt after him, heart in his throat.

The shadow had saved his life, without hesitation or any sign of regret. And it was easy to fall into step beside him, as they carved through the droids. He moved like Anakin - enough like Anakin - for them to work together as one person. 

Obi-Wan covered the shadow’s back as faithfully as he’d ever watched Anakin’s, and felt the shadow doing the same, adjusting his attack and stance when droids targeted Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan lopped the head off of the last droid, watching it wobble off to run into a nearby tree, and exhaled.

The shadow said, from close behind him, “You fight like him.”

Obi-Wan turned to look, slowly, worried that moving too quickly might be taken as an attack. The shadow stood so close that Obi-Wan felt the heat from his body, his head cocked to the side as he looked Obi-Wan up and down, consideration written all over his expression. Obi-Wan said, relieved that it seemed they weren’t going to fight again, “And you fight like my Anakin.”

The shadow’s eyes narrowed, but then he glanced down at the droids, and nodded. “We don’t have those. Where I’m from. What are they?”

Obi-Wan felt a brief pang of yearning; to live in a world without the droid armies seemed a pleasant prospect. That thought lasted only until he got another look at the shadow. He’d take a universe with the Separatists, if it meant Anakin had not fallen to the Dark. “Droids. The armies of the Separatists. It’s… we’re at war. With them.”

“War…” The shadow looked at him, frowning. “There’s war here?”

“For almost four years,” Obi-Wan said, tired. He had a feeling he should have been more on his guard, but the shadow was so very much like Anakin. And he seemed… no longer interested in killing Obi-Wan.

“Hm,” he said, reaching out, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s jaw - as though that was just something he did without thinking about it. “You’re hurt.”

Obi-Wan felt the sting of a wound along his hairline. Probably it looked worse than it was. Head wounds could be that way. “It’ll heal,” he said, “I’m more concerned with--”

“General Kenobi!” Cody called, his voice echoing, doubled in the radio in Obi-Wan’s ear. He looked out across the field of the destroyed droids and said, after a beat, “I see you have the situation under control.”

“I--”

“He’s hurt,” the shadow interrupted, bristling as he stepped forward, gripping Obi-Wan’s arm and scowling. “Where’s your medic?”

“Trill,” Cody said, waving one of his men forward with a jerk of his head, and it was disorienting, to watch them respond as though the shadow was Anakin. Obi-Wan saw no sign of doubt of hesitation in their movements.

His gut ached at the thought that they could not look and  _ see  _ that this Anakin was wrong. That his Anakin was… abrupt enough to be confused for the shadow with the red eyes. It was a situation he could, obviously, not allow to continue.

He could only imagine how much damage a man who looked like Anakin could cause, if left free to do so among the ranks of the GAR. He said, as Trill approached, already taking his medpack off of his back, “We’ve got a bit of a situation, Commander. This isn’t… our Anakin.”

Cody looked back and forth between them, and said, cautiously, “Hit your head really hard this time, sir?”

Beside him, the shadow smirked, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to rub at his face, but only because he could feel Trill starting a line of stitches across his temple. “Alright,” he said, heaving a sigh. “Listen to me for a moment.”

#

Not-Obi-Wan leaned his shoulders back against the wall and frowned when Anakin finished all his explanations. The lights of the ship were flashing around them. They’d damaged something in their scuffle; Anakin hoped it was nothing too serious, such a pretty ship deserved better.

“Alright,” not-Obi-Wan said, finally. “Alright, fine. We need to find out if the chamber where you… touched the rock is still viable. Perhaps the collapse didn’t completely destroy it.” He turned, marching towards the cockpit, and, after a moment, Anakin followed him.

Not-Obi-Wan sank into the co-pilot’s seat and then hesitated, glancing at Anakin sideways. “You can pilot, can’t you?”

Anakin frowned back at him. “I’m an excellent pilot,” he said, sliding into the pilot’s seat and looking over controls that were only vaguely familiar. He’d never flown one of  _ these  _ before, but, honestly, how hard could it be?

Not that difficult, as it turned out. He brought them out of the shipyard and over towards the cave system, not-Obi-Wan running scans in the seat across from him, and chattering back and forth with some guards who wanted to know where, exactly, they were going.

It was strange, seeing despair across Obi-Wan’s features, as they ran scan after scan on the remains of the ruins. Anakin paid more attention to him than he should have, but… 

But this strange, twisted version of Obi-Wan kept snagging his attention. Anakin corrected their position and glanced over, noticing a familiar expression of concentration and determination one moment, and the curve of Obi-Wan’s mouth the next.

He couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. The way not-Obi-Wan had seemed so familiar with him. The way he’d said  _ Anakin Skywalker always kisses me like he means it _ . Anakin jerked his gaze away, feeling heat crawling over his skin. He was in some kind of strange, bizarre place where everything was wrong, except that…

Except that, apparently, the version of himself that lived here got to kiss Obi-Wan  _ like he meant it _ .

Anakin couldn’t quite smother a flare of jealousy. He flinched, caught thinking about exactly how he’d always meant to kiss Obi-Wan, when not-Obi-Wan leaned away from the controls, exhaling deeply before he said, “The inner chambers are completely collapsed. It will take weeks, perhaps months, to excavate.”

Anakin frowned. “You’re going to excavate?”

Not-Obi-Wan cut him a look. “Well, I’m not leaving  _ my  _ Anakin trapped wherever you came from.” And didn’t that just throw Anakin’s thoughts into a tight spiral, because if, well, not-Anakin were on the other side of that mirror, that meant he was with  _ Anakin’s _ Obi-Wan.

Anakin’s mind turned that over for a moment and he felt his back teeth grind together. He didn’t want some version of himself used to  _ kissing Obi-Wan like he meant it _ running around with his - his old Master. A version of himself with red eyes, nonetheless. A version who might - might do untoward things and--

Anakin ground out, “We can’t wait that long.”

Not-Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him, leaning back in his chair, knees wide and the position was  _ ridiculously  _ inviting. “I’m not sure we have another choice,” he said, mouth crooking up in the corners, “though I am, of course, open to any suggestions you have.”

Anakin looked him up and down, watched his eyes narrow as he  _ noticed _ , and jerked his face to the side, feeling his cheeks heat. “I…” He needed to focus on something besides the soft fabric over not-Obi-Wan’s thighs. “My Obi-Wan, before I passed through, he said something about recognizing some of the symbols down there.”

Not-Obi-Wan straightened, his eyes flashing a bit in the cabin, and wasn’t  _ that  _ just strange and uncomfortable. He asked, head cocking to the side, “Did he say where?”

Anakin was already working to remember, pushing aside all the confusing jumble of things that had happened to confuse the issue. He’d only been half paying attention; archaeology was something Obi-Wan cared about, not something that held any particular interest for him, but--

“Below the Temple,” Anakin said, relief at the recollection burning through his veins. “He said he’d seen similar markings under the Temple, on Coruscant.. Tell me that still exists, here.”

“Oh, it exists,” not-Obi-Wan said, flashing him a smile that shifted as he looked over Anakin’s shoulder, torn circuitry hanging from the wall. “But the lower levels are closed to all but the Emperor and his Acolytes. They use the space for their rituals.” He frowned, gaze going distant. “You know… I have heard stories about a powerful Force user who could step into other world, though the secret of how he did it is long lost.”

Anakin felt something like relief, mad as it seemed, rush through him. The idea that someone else might have - once upon a time - done the same thing he did, felt like the first piece of good news he’d received since he got thrown into this upside down place. He said, “Alright, so. Coruscant?”

Not-Obi-Wan sighed and nodded. He looked… less than pleased at the idea. “Coruscant. I don’t suppose you’re good at repairing ships?”

Anakin glanced back through the ship. He said, “As a matter of fact, I’m amazing.”

“Well.” Not-Obi-Wan stood, in his space, carelessly. “Get started.” He ran a hand up Anakin’s arm, clasped his shoulder. “We need to go to Coruscant, after all. Make sure we’re capable of deep space travel.” His palm brushed Anakin’s neck, thumb rubbing across the line of Anakin’s jaw, just for a moment, before he drew back.

Anakin stood there a moment after he withdrew, frozen, his heart beating too fast in his chest, his gut tight with desires he shouldn’t have been feeling.

That, at least, wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, when he was dealing with Obi-Wan. He’d almost grown used to looking across at Obi-Wan and feeling want crawling all through his veins, a desperate desire to have things that weren’t for him. 

#

Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure that Cody and the others would have believed him so easily, had not the shadow backed up his story and flashed his eyes crimson. “I don’t want to stay here,” he said, with a shrug, when Obi-Wan looked at him askance, as they marched back towards their drop ship. “Why lie?”

But then, Obi-Wan supposed, Anakin had never enjoyed lying. Apparently, some things held true, even in different universes. He seemed curious as they approached the camp they’d set up on the edges of the battlefield.

It looked familiar enough to feel like coming home, after so long spent fighting the war. Oh, it was different, in small ways, from every other military camp Obi-Wan had stayed in. But in all the important ways, it was the same. It stank of blood and sweat, blaster smoke, oil. Grief. Despair.

Troopers, many of them not wearing helmets, moved from one tent to the next. There were survivors from the planet among them, some there to get medical treatment, others there simply because they had nowhere else to go. Many had left, going south or north, to family or friends that they hoped had survived.

Many had no family or friends left. Some were children, empty eyed and small, with only the troopers and Obi-Wan to look after them. “What happened here?” the shadow asked, as they walked through the tents, Obi-Wan leading him towards the command center without thinking about it. He seemed vaguely curious, not really disgusted by what he saw.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “This planet is full of a mineral the Separatists use in the development of their fuel,” he said. 

“Rhydonium,” the shadow said, nodding, and Obi-Wan glanced at him. He shrugged back. “We mine this world, where I come from. The Empire has had mines here since… before I was born.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, drawn to a stop. “But…” Horror gnawed away at his guts, fierce and terrible. “But the mining process releases toxins. It will poison the atmosphere. The planet would be unlivable within decades.”

“We estimate it has another two or three years,” the shadow said, gaze on a pair of children sitting huddled together in the shadow of a tent.

Obi-Wan swallowed bile. “But even before that, the effect on the worker’s health, unless you’ve managed to automate--”

“No, they don’t last long,” the shadow said, shaking his head. “We’ve had to bring in workers from offworld, to keep the operation going.”

Obi-Wan stared at the side of his head, his heart beating hard in his chest, horror crawling into his mouth. “Slaves,” he said, quietly, and the shadow snapped his head over to scowl at him, expression darkening.

“They are not,” he snapped, bristling all over, “they’re compensated for their work.”

“Are they?” Obi-Wan asked, feeling almost numb with how wrong everything felt. “What could possibly compensate them for their early deaths and--”

“You’re soft,” the shadow said, but there was not the pure scorn in the words that Obi-Wan expected. He seemed… almost fond, instead, taking a step closer, reaching out, running fingers back through Obi-Wan’s hair with that same, startling familiarity he’d displayed before. “My Obi-Wan is, too. He’s always worried about something.”

“Perhaps he has reason to be,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, relieved to know that, perhaps, his alternate self was not a complete monster. “What--”

“The shorter hair suits you,” the shadow said, tilting his head, eyes darkening, fingers curling briefly against Obi-Wan’s scalp. “But there’s so little to grab.” As he spoke he slid his hand up, into the longer hair across the top of Obi-Wan’s hair, and his fingers tightened again, pulling Obi-Wan’s chin up. “I suppose the other me doesn’t mind?”

Obi-Wan stared at him, working to keep his breathing slow. “Why would he?” he asked, terribly aware that they were standing in the middle of the open space between tents, that there were troopers, drawing to a stop, confused by the tableau they formed.

The shadow hummed a bit and said, “Because it might deny him of the sounds you make, mostly,” and then released his grip, straightening. “Now. Are we going to get this scanning equipment together, or are we not?”

# 

Anakin worked until not-Obi-Wan brought him a meal. He had most of the repairs finished, by that point. The ship was in good shape, aside from the damage caused by their fight. If they hadn’t managed to damage the coolant system, they could have been on their ways hours before.

Not-Obi-Wan settled down in the hall beside him, after delivering the meal, folding his legs and cupping his bowl in one hand. It was… amazing and horrifying, all at once, how much he looked like Obi-Wan, right down to the way he held his spoon and frowningly stirred his soup.

Anakin stared at him, not intending to do so, his own soup growing colder in his hand. “Is there something on my face?” not-Obi-Wan asked, eventually, not even glancing over. Anakin jerked his gaze away, flushing.

“There’s something not on your face, actually,” he said, lifting the bowl to his mouth and drinking a swallow down. Not-Obi-Wan hadn’t given him a spoon. Apparently, some things remained constant between dimensions, or whatever.

Anakin had always thought the idea of parallel universes kind of… silly. There were so many holodramas about it. But Padmé had always been fascinated by the idea, that there were multiple versions of themselves out there, somehow, doing things just slightly differently. She’d used to tease that, perhaps, if things had gone differently on Geonosis, they might have actually run off and gotten married, instead of sharing only a single kiss.

Those thoughts had kept Anakin warm on more than one cold night, before falling away as the war ground them to dust. It wasn’t Padmé he imagined crawling into his bunk or his tent, these days. It hadn’t been, not for years.

But he still recalled her fascination, her insistence that there were slightly different versions of all of them out there, going about lives unseen and unknown. Or not so slightly different versions, as Anakin was coming to find out.

Not-Obi-Wan glanced up at him, a questioning arch to his brow, and Anakin gestured at his jaw. “My Obi-Wan,” he said, “he’s got a beard.”

Not-Obi-Wan flashed him a smile, sharp and wide, “I had one for a bit. My Anakin didn’t care for it. Too prickly on his skin.”

Anakin flushed, hot all over all at once, looking hurriedly to the side, thinking about Obi-Wan’s beard  _ all over his skin _ . His imagination ran wild with the idea, the drag of sensation, the pant of Obi-Wan’s breath, the slide of his soft mouth.

Anakin shifted around, drawing a leg up, trying to disguise the sudden shift in the state of his body. It was a reaction he wasn’t sure he wanted not-Obi-Wan to pick up on immediately, or at all. Unfortunately, not-Obi-Wan then decided to ask, “You don’t mind it?”

“I don’t--” Anakin had to clear his throat. Swallow. Start over. “It’s not--we aren’t--” He gestured with a hand and knew it looked vaguely obscene. Not-Obi-Wan blinked, looking surprised for the first time, head cocking to the side.

“But you desire him,” he said, sounding as though he were attempting to puzzle out a mystery. “That kiss might not have been very good, but--”

“The kiss was fine,” Anakin snapped, heat prickling down the back of his neck, half-disbelieving that this argument was happening, but not-Obi-Wan felt familiar in so many ways. Bickering with him felt natural. It was an easy habit to fall into, impossible to avoid.

Even if not-Obi-Wan snorted and said, “For a first kiss, I suppose it was not awful.” Anakin straightened, stung, because he’d kissed plenty before and gotten no complaints, he’d only been startled that Obi-Wan would try to kiss him. “So,” not-Obi-Wan continued, before Anakin could snap a reply, “you do desire him.”

“I---” Anakin clenched his jaw shut, looking to the side. “I didn’t say that. I never said that.”

“But you do,” not-Obi-Wan said, and when Anakin opened his mouth he continued, “I can feel it, darling, you don’t need to try to lie about it. He does not desire  _ you _ ?” He asked, and sounded shocked, as though he could not imagine such a thing.

Anakin worked his jaw, side to side. “No,” he said, flatly. “He doesn’t.” 

“His loss,” not-Obi-Wan said, lightly, and Anakin jerked to look at him, finding him finishing his soup, expression unconcerned. “You should finish that,” he added, as he stretched to his feet, “before it gets cold.”

Anakin watched him walk away, breath coming sharp and fast, and demanded, “Where are you going?”

Not-Obi-Wan turned to glance over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. “I need to make arrangements, before we can leave this place. We had an assignment here, after all.”

Anakin frowned, resisting the urge to throw his bowl at the nearest wall. “What kind of assignment?”

Not-Obi-Wan hesitated, but only for a moment. He turned away when he spoke, and his tone sounded breezy, but there was something  _ off _ . “Why, wiping out the rebels disrupting the mining operations, of course. I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up for me, darling.”

#

The shadow snarled and slammed the side of his fist against the wall, when their scans revealed there was no fast way to get back to the subterranean chamber. His signature flared in the Force, so full of anger that Obi-Wan shuddered involuntarily. 

It… hurt, seeing someone wearing Anakin’s face, but with all the places inside filled up darkness and anger. He’d always been aware that Anakin felt things deeply. He was not a fool; he’d been aware that Anakin grew angry, furious, even vindictive at times.

But he’d never doubted, even once, that Anakin knew where the line was, that he would not go too far. The shadow was a terrible kind of proof that he could, given the right circumstances. That in the correct situation, he might embrace the darkness within, fully give in to the siren song of the Darkside of the Force.

He had seemed barely comforted when Obi-Wan’s memory kicked over and he recalled the markings in the Temple. It had been years since he’d seen them. He’d not even been a padawan himself, at the time. In his youth, he’d spent too much time exploring beneath the Temple, following forgotten passages, imagining himself a member of the Order in days long past…

He no longer recalled why he’d stopped going down there to explore. There had to have been a reason, but his memory was clouded and vague. Perhaps he’d simply ran out of time after Qui-Gon took him as a padawan. 

“We should return to Coruscant right away,” Shadow insisted, almost before Obi-Wan finished speaking, “you do have some ships around here, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan sighed, wishing he had his Anakin back, casting Shadow a look. “There’s another Separatist fleet on our doorstep. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“There’s nothing here to defend,” Shadow snapped, waving a hand dismissively.

Obi-Wan felt tired just thinking about it. He did not say, that has never stopped us from mounting a defense before. Besides, there was something to defend on this planet. “Millions of people live on this world,” he said. “We can’t just let them be massacred.”

Shadow blew out a breath, scowling at the holo projections of the approaching fleet. “They’ll be here in less than a day,” he said, eyes narrowing, his expression going tight and thoughtful. “And after they’re handled, we can go to Coruscant?”

“I don’t see why not,” Obi-Wan said, though knowing their luck he’d be pulled halfway across the galaxy to put out a different fire. He had to hold onto hope. It was all he had left. 

“Fine,” Shadow said, as though conceding a major point. He turned away from all the screens, gaze landing on Obi-Wan, dark and considering. He took a step forward, voice going quieter when he asked, “And how can we pass the time while we wait, I wonder?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, reading things into his expression that were surely not really there, and said, “I’m afraid I’m not up to another sparring session, if that’s--”

“Was I too rough with you?” Shadow asked, closer still. Obi-Wan took a step back and bumped into the console, distracted by the smile curling across Shadow’s mouth. His mood had changed so quickly and without warning. “Perhaps the me from this place is gentler?” he added, putting his hands on the console on either side of Obi-Wan’s waist. “I suppose that must mean I can be gentle, too.”

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan managed to ask, all other thoughts fleeing from his mind as Shadow ducked his head. “What are--”

Shadow’s nose brushed against his, and Obi-Wan put a hand on his chest, on familiar fabric, over a familiar heart. He turned his face to the side, thinking it a deterrent for what could not be  _ really  _ happening, but Shadow shifted with it, adapting as easily as Anakin ever had, his breath warm against Obi-Wan’s skin as he nuzzled  _ back _ , lips brushing skin.

Obi-Wan pushed, stepping to the side even as he did, demanding, “What are you doing?”

Shadow watched him, dark eyes tracking his movements. “Providing a way to pass the time.”

“We’ll have to think of something different,” Obi-Wan said, taking another step back away from him, watching him cock his head to the side.

“Why?” Shadow asked, looking curious and impatient, all at once. “I know you’re not exactly  _ my  _ Obi-Wan, but you’re still…” He took a breath, wetting his bottom lip, “You. I’m still me. Discovering any differences could be enjoyable.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, flashing him a brief smile, “Sorry to disappoint, but we - we don’t  _ pass the time _ that way. Here.”

Shadow blinked, looking taken off of his guard. Puzzled. He sounded completely confused when he asked, “Why?”

Obi-Wan barked a sharp laugh. “It’s…” He shook his head. “We just don’t.” There were more reasons for it than he could have counted, beginning with the fact that Anakn had never shown any indication that he  _ wanted  _ to, moving through their positions with the Jedi, and ending with the knowledge that Anakin deserved… someone better.

Obi-Wan felt terribly aware that he’d never been good enough; he was second choice for Anakin’s Master, he felt he barely kept up when they were thrown into battle together, he-- It was just he was the only option, in so many cases.

“Then he’s never touched you,” Shadow said, moving towards him again, something predatory in each movement, his eyes growing darker. “Not once?”

“I need to go talk to Commander Cody,” Obi-Wan said, turning, and Shadow caught him, curling an arm around him, pulling him close enough for Obi-Wan to feel exactly how interested he was.

“Do you know,” he murmured, quietly, against Obi-Wan’s ear, “how good I could make you feel? I know just what you--”

“Let me go,” Obi-Wan ground out, hand closed around Shadow’s wrist, holding onto his composure, furious that - that the universe would play such a cruel jape, twist this person with Anakin’s face, make him say and do things Anakin never would--

Shadow released him, but slowly, drawing his hand back with a caress across Obi-Wan’s hip. “Let me know when you change your mind,” he said, and Obi-Wan suppressed a shiver down his spine, shaking his head.

He wished he could leave Shadow behind, get some space from him, but dared not leave him to his own devices. Who knew what he might get into. And so Obi-Wan brought him along to discuss battle plans with Cody, to eat, and things went well enough until night rolled in around them, and Shadow stretched with a yawn.

Deciding where to put him was a… problem. The red gleam of his eyes made Obi-Wan want to call for guards. Put him in a cell, somewhere he couldn’t cause trouble. But, he hadn’t actually  _ caused  _ any trouble, yet, besides leaving Obi-Wan feeling off-balance and uncomfortable. “What are you thinking about?” Shadow asked; they were in one corner of the mess tent, left on their own, though troopers shot them curious glances.

“Just considering the odds that you might kill us all in our sleep,” Obi-Wan said, and Shadow flashed him a grin.

“Well,” he said, “you’re at least safe. Murder isn’t what I’d be tempted to do to you in your sleep.” He glanced across the room and shrugged, while Obi-Wan stiffened. “And why would I kill any of them? They’ve done nothing to me.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is your Anakin particularly prone to killing people on a whim?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “No,” he said, though Anakin did sometimes get...over-zealous. And that was with his eyes clear. 

Shadow grinned at him. “Then you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I’m sure you’ll know if I get up.” He stood, offering Obi-Wan a hand.

Obi-Wan watched him, something wary stirring in his spine, even as he stood himself, ignoring the hand. Shadow snorted, but said nothing about it, reaching out, anyway, to place a hand on Obi-Wan’s back. “Why is that?”

“I need you to sleep,” he said, plain and expectant, while Obi-Wan stiffened. “You’re the only one who helps with the nightmares.”

Obi-Wan glanced up at him. “Not me, I’m--”

“I bet you’ll do just as well,” Shadow said. “And if I’m with you, I can’t be killing everyone, can I? It’ll work out for everyone.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Perhaps, in a perfect world, he should have argued. But he was exhausted, and, anyway, it was true enough. “Fine,” he said, waving a hand. He still ordered extra guards around his tent, just in case Shadow decided that murdering was the way to go and decided to start with Obi-Wan.

He ordered another cot sent in, as well, and Shadow said, “Oh, we won’t need that.”

Obi-Wan eyed him sideways. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

Shadow cocked his head to the side. “My nightmares--”

“I’ll be right beside you,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. “I’m sure that will be good enough.” And Shadow only narrowed his eyes and shrugged. Watched Obi-Wan as he settled onto the floor to meditate before sleeping. He was still watching, propped up on one elbow, expression openly curious, when Obi-Wan finished. “Do I not meditate, where you come from?”

“Not as much as you used to,” Shadow said, something… strange in his tone. He looked to the side, shook his head, and rolled onto his back, saying nothing more. Obi-Wan almost asked for more information, but speaking of his double left him feeling uncomfortable, unsettled, and he’d only just meditated.

He stretched out on his own bunk, instead, put his head to the pillow, and was exhausted enough that sleep came for him immediately.

He woke to horrible, wretched sounds. Sobbing, or something like it. He jerked to wakefulness, groggy but waking quickly - waking slowly got you killed, in his experience - blinking in the dim light of the tent. There was movement from the other cot, jerky and thrashing.

So, the nightmares, at least, had not been a mistruth. But why would the Shadow  _ not  _ have nightmares, Obi-Wan supposed. Who knew what he had done. What he had seen done by others. Still, the agony in his voice cut into Obi-Wan’s flesh. He sounded so much like Anakin, and--

And Obi-Wan swung to his feet, crossing to the other cot and sitting. Shadow had said the other Obi-Wan helped with the nightmares. And Obi-Wan could not leave him in such a state. He hesitated for a moment, looking at Shadow’s tormented expression, the tension in his body as he twisted on the blankets, and then reached out, gently touching his shoulder.

Shadow woke at once, with a bitten-off cry. He lurched to sitting, panting hard, heat radiating off of him, and - really - Obi-Wan should have expected to be grappled close. Arms clenched around him, crushing him close to Shadow. Obi-Wan felt fingers clenching in his under-tunic as his face mashed against Shadow’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he said, softly. After a moment, he dared to shift, bringing one of his arms up, curling it around Shadow. He did not seem… of a mind to pursue what he’d attempted earlier. And he obviously needed comfort. “It’s alright, it was only a dream.”

Shadow nodded, jerkily, cheek dragging against the side of Obi-Wan head. He was making soft, hurt sounds in the back of his throat. It took time to soothe him, to get his heart-rate back down, to coax him to lie back down. After all of the effort, Obi-Wan had no energy left to disentangle himself when Shadow kept an arm around him, holding him close.

He sighed, well aware that if he shifted too much he’d fall off the tiny bunk, and closed his eyes.

He’d slept in stranger positions, he supposed. And Shadow’s grip on him would, likely, keep him from waking up on the way to the floor. He ignored the sense of smug satisfaction radiating from Shadow, thinking he likely would not sleep anyway, but the warmth and comfort of having someone else there conspired against him.

He slept.

#

Anakin found not-Obi-Wan exiting the ship’s small storage area, when he finished the repairs. He was doing something to the controls, turning to frown at Anakin as he approached. He asked, “All finished, then?”

“As finished as we’re going to get,” Anakin said, shrugging. “If things are even close to similar between our two dimensions, it should take us around three days to reach Coruscant.”

Not-Obi-Wan made a little sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head. “It’ll take us longer than that. We can’t just… go straight to the Capital. We’ll have to stop along the way, get permissions, make sure we adhere to protocol. I may be called upon to execute my duties as we go.” He walked down the corridor, leaving Anakin to trail after him.

“Your duties,” Anakin said, frowning. “What are those, again?”

Not-Obi-Wan hesitated, just for a moment. “They vary,” he said. “The Order is responsible for carrying out the will of the Emperor. Protecting the safety of the Galactic Empire.” And that didn’t sound so terribly far away from what Anakin knew the Jedi were  _ supposed  _ to be doing. 

“You were here on official work?” he asked. It seemed strange to think that, in this world where everything was wrong and terrible, that the Jedi hadn’t become embroiled in a war. It made Anakin ache, under his ribs, with a deep yearning.

“Removing the rebels,” not-Obi-Wan said, “yes.” And the yearning in Anakin’s chest dissolved as quickly as that, disappearing into his blood with only a lingering tinge of horror as he recalled all the bodies in the caves.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing not-Obi-Wan’s arm, holding him, “you’re telling me the - the Order works as… as executioners?”

Not-Obi-Wan glanced down at his hand and then back up, and, for just a moment, there was something utterly familiar about his expression. Sadness, perhaps. He was used to seeing Obi-Wan look that way. “We serve the will of the Emperor,” he said, quietly. “Sometimes that means removing dissidents who disturb the Empire’s peace.”

“There were children in those caves,” Anakin said, tasting bile in the back of his mouth. “How disturbing could they have been?”

Not-Obi-Wan shifted his gaze to the side. “All who defy the Emperor must learn the error of their ways,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” Anakin said, scowling, “not for nothing, but this Emperor of yours sounds like a piece of kriffing--”

“Stop,” not-Obi-Wan said, low and fierce all at once, gaze snapping back to Anakin, “you  _ cannot  _ say things like that here, do you understand? I know you don’t know this place, but--but you  _ must not  _ talk like that.”

“Or what?” Anakin asked, shoving aside the shiver down his spine. “You’ll help me learn the error of my ways?”

Not-Obi-Wan scowled at him, “I know you don’t belong here. I may need you to get my Anakin back. But others may not be so understanding. They would… execute you, if they heard you talking this way. Especially as a member of the Order. Do you understand me?”

A chill ran down Anakin’s spine. He saw nothing but iron certainty in not-Obi-Wan’s eyes. He swallowed and nodded, after a moment. He did not want to die in this place. He wanted just to go home. To see his Obi-Wan and pretend the entire experience to be only a bad dream. “I understand,” he said, and not-Obi-Wan stepped back from him.

“Good,” he said. “Now. We should get on our way. We can sleep, once we’ve set the autopilot.”

Anakin hadn’t thought about the logistics of sharing a room with not-Obi-Wan until they were allowed to, finally, retreat back to his quarters. Not-Obi-Wan led him through the door and Anakin became suddenly, painfully, aware of the single bunk in the room.

“Where are my quarters?” he asked, belatedly, as the door shut at his back.

Not-Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder, a smirk flitting across his mouth as he shrugged off his outer tunic. “These are your quarters,” he said, continuing to undress, layers coming off and taking Anakin’s ability to focus with them.

He said, aware that he was far too concerned with the exposure of not-Obi-Wan’s shoulders, “No, these are  _ his  _ quarters. And yours.” A shiver climbed his spine.

“And he always sleeps here,” not-Obi-Wan said, draping his undertunic across the back of a chair, and-- and he looked so familiar. Except that there were not fading marks on Anakin’s Obi-Wan. He couldn’t look at his Obi-Wan’s skin and see the shape of his mouth left behind in fading purples, or the marks of his fingers, dark stains peaking out above the waistband of not-Obi-Wan’s pants. 

He jerked his gaze away, but not quickly enough. He could feel the heat rising in his skin, trying to shove it down. Anakin swallowed. He said, “Fine. I’ll just…” He jerked his hand out to the side. “Sleep on the floor.”

Not-Obi-Wan made an amused sound. “Sleep where you like, if you think you can’t control yourself,” he said, and Anakin jerked to glare at him. Not-Obi-Wan only arched an eyebrow, looking amused as he shoved his slacks down his hips, holding Anakin’s gaze the entire time. “Your virtue is safe from  _ me _ , you have my word.”

Anakin scowled, jumping when not-Obi-Wan walked towards him, half-sure that not-Obi-Wan was going to - to press against him, curl an arm around his neck, draw him down, and he--

Not-Obi-Wan brushed by him, skin against Anakin’s robes, crawling up onto the mattress and stretching out on his back, body displayed and-- And Anakin jerked his gaze to the side, angling his body away, because the effect of seeing him spread out across the blankets was… more noticeable than Anakin liked.

He said, trying to distract himself from the want, “So, you - you trained him? The other me? He was your apprentice?”

Not-Obi-Wan shifted on the blankets. Anakin listened to it, hating how it snagged his attention, how he couldn’t stop himself from imagining the way not-Obi-Wan might have moved. He cut his gaze over, looking out of the corners of his eyes to find that not-Obi-Wan had drawn a leg up, tucked an arm behind his head, that he was watching Anakin and--and clocked Anakin’s attention as soon as Anakin looked over, raising an eyebrow.

“I trained him, yes,” not-Obi-Wan said, and it was difficult to focus on what he was saying, because he looked like every burning dream Anakin had indulged in for years, and-- 

Well. Anakin made himself look away again. “Yeah?” He paced across the room, gaze moving over the decor without really seeing anything, trying not to think about how easy it would be to join not-Obi-Wan on the mattress, to shed his own clothing and push skin to skin, to prove that he could kiss  _ like he meant it _ . “And how’d that all happen? In my world, my Obi-Wan trained me after Master Qui-Gon died.”

Not-Obi-Wan’s breath changed; Anakin was paying too much attention to him and noticed, noticed, too, when he sat up, swinging his legs off of the bed. Anakin looked at him through one of the large mirrors in the room, at the curved line of his spine and the scars over his back, some of which were unfamiliar, new.

“Qui-Gon died here, as well,” not-Obi-Wan said, his voice strange.

“Not fighting a Sith, though,” Anakin prompted, shifting, trying to find an angle that would allow him to see not-Obi-Wan’s expression. “Right?”

Not-Obi-Wan shrugged and said, quietly, “I don’t know that term.” And Anakin wondered at that, though perhaps he should not have been surprised. The Jedi here seemed some blending of the two philosophies, the Order filled with the cruelty and sharpness of the Sith, no longer worrying about the Rule of Two. “But. He did not put up much of a fight, when I ran him through.”

Anakin froze, cold spreading down through his chest and spine, racing alongside horror. Things in this version of the world seemed wrong, horrible, but not-Obi-Wan had seemed so much like his Obi-Wan, he’d--

He’d just assumed they were more alike than different, he’d-- not-Obi-Wan continued, quietly, his tone flat and hard, remorseless,“I had no choice, you know. I was twelve, when he - he took me away from the Temple. You - my Anakin - he was only nine. He was so small. So young. I couldn’t let - let it happen. I wouldn’t.”

Anakin turned slowly to face him. He looked… upset. Anakin knew what that emotion looked like on his Obi-Wan. He saw it, sometimes, after particularly awful battles, or, sometimes, after Obi-Wan woke from nightmares he wouldn’t discuss. “Let what happen?” Anakin asked, curious, both at the idea that Qui-Gon had not wanted the best for him and that, somehow, this Dark version of Obi-Wan had a line he thought too horrible to cross.

Not-Obi-Wan shook his head, his hands clenched in the sheets by his hips. He said, “Nothing, it’s not important. He’s dead. I made sure of that.” He said the last with a kind of grim satisfaction that set a chill down Anakin’s spine. But there was also a terrible tension across his shoulders, an angle to his head that made Anakin want to go over and… and comfort him.

Anakin took a step and then another, drawn forward. Not-Obi-Wan jerked his head up, watching Anakin with sharp eyes, wary, all at once. “I…” Anakin swallowed and realized he didn’t know what to say, how to even begin to finish that sentence. “Qui-Gon trained my Obi-Wan, too,” he finished, finally, and not-Obi-Wan barked a laugh.

“ _ Trained _ ,” he said, mouth twisting just for a moment, the gold in his eyes tinging darker, to red. “Then we were both unlucky. But, I suppose, at least we both had you.”

Anakin stared at him, thrown constantly off his balance, and said, “So you - you also - with your Anakin, you--”

“I taught him how to use the Force and fight,” not-Obi-Wan said, chin lifting, a challenge in his eyes. “I kept him safe from Senators and pirates and the Council. I saw that he was elevated to a Knight and then a Master, that he could protect himself.”

And Anakin could hear the fierce emotion in not-Obi-Wan’s voice, dedication and something more. He said, quietly, “But you also…” He gestured at the bed, and not-Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him.

“I love him,” not-Obi-Wan said, flat, hard. “After he was Knighted, when he decided he wanted me…” not-Obi-Wan shrugged. His Anakin had  _ wanted  _ him, and so had, apparently,  _ had  _ him, and…

“As simple as that?” Anakin asked, voice hoarse, glancing to the side, thinking of his own hungry wants, pushed down and ignored for so long. His traitorous thoughts led him to consider, for a moment, what would have happened if he’d - he’d decided he wanted his Obi-Wan.

Would his Obi-Wan have just… just gone along with it? Surely not. He was not like this Obi-Wan, who loved his Anakin, in, apparently, every way imaginable. Not-Obi-Wan asked, “Why would it be more complicated?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, because he could not think how to explain all the complications in his head and his chest. “It just… I don’t…”

“You want, too,” not-Obi-Wan said, sparing Anakin from trying to shape words that would not come. He sounded curious. “The universe doesn’t give gifts, darling. If you want something, you have to take it.” And the thought of  _ taking  _ from Obi-Wan, who already gave so much to everyone, made him shudder. He shook his head, and for a moment there was silence between them, full of tension.

“You should rest,” not-Obi-Wan said, finally, standing stiffly from the bed, still giving the impression that there were sharp edges moving around beneath his skin. He made to brush past Anakin, and Anakin reached for his arm, but did not grab.

“Where are you going?” Anakin asked, instead.

“I have work I can do,” not-Obi-Wan said, so some things really did not change, “and it’s obvious you’re not going to sleep while I’m here. So--”

“No, it’s.” Anakin grimaced, glancing at the bed, but there was a part of him that knew how tired Obi-Wan was; the thought of being the reason  _ this  _ Obi-Wan didn’t get enough rest cut at him. “That’s - just lie down. We’ll both sleep.”

Not-Obi-Wan watched him, for a moment, and Anakin saw the moment he gave in, that he nodded. They did not speak again when they crawled into the bunk. Anakin rolled onto his side, looking at the wall. There was a mirror there. He stared into his own dark eyes for a breath, before he squeezed his eyes closed, listening to not-Obi-Wan breathe at his back, until sleep reached up and took him.

#

Obi-Wan woke to the feeling of someone running fingers through his hair. He blinked, taking in the relative brightness of the tent and the warmth pressed all against him. There was an expanse of skin, familiar enough, though he’d never seen it from quite this angle. He appeared to be.... Resting his head on Shadow’s shoulder, Shadow’s chin pressed against the top of his head, Shadow’s fingers running through his hair.

“Did you sleep well?” Shadow asked, with no evidence that he was bothered by the nightmares from the previous night. Obi-Wan had an arm over him, a leg over one of Shadow’s. He could feel, against the top of his thigh, evidence that Shadow was enjoying their position very much. Shadow seemed disinclined to do anything about it; he was holding a pad in his other hand, eyes on the screen.

“Well enough,” Obi-Wan said, working towards normalcy, as though he woke every morning so entangled. He shifted, sitting, and Shadow made a soft, regretful sound. Obi-Wan shivered, involuntarily, and said, “What are you doing?”

“Getting caught up,” Shadow said, face lit by the blue light from the pad. “We don’t have anything like this war where I come from.” He shifted, then, palm on Obi-Wan’s thigh - sliding up and  _ in  _ \- as he rolled closer, voice going lower when he said, “I could help you with that.”

“No, that’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the little smirk on Shadow’s face, the feel of his fingers, grip tightening on Obi-Wan’s thigh as Obi-Wan made to stand.

“You don’t have to do anything for me in return,” Shadow said, dropping the pad to the mattress, shifting up, nose brushing Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “After all, you helped with the nightmares. Let me just…” he slid his hand again, and Obi-Wan stood, keeping his back to Shadow as he crossed the room to grab his tunic.

“The Separatists will be here soon,” he said, ignoring the pounding of his heart. Shadow  _ wasn’t Anakin _ . This was all just… some kind of nightmare. A punishment for the affection he’d indulged in too long, for every time the thought of strong hands and a familiar smile had crossed his mind, for every aching hunger he’d ever felt.

“Maybe later, then,” Shadow said, sounding only marginally put out. Obi-Wan shivered.

“You may want to stay well back from the battle today,” he said, pulling clothes on quickly. “Such engagements can change quickly, and--”

“I’m not staying back anywhere,” Shadow said, with a little snort. Obi-Wan turned to look at him to find him shrugging into his own clothes. 

Obi-Wan looked away again. “This isn’t your war, I don’t expect--”

“It’s your war,” Shadow interrupted, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. “And I’m hardly going to let anything happen to you.” He shook his head, as though disbelieving that Obi-Wan would even make such a suggestion. Obi-Wan was left to push down his lingering unease.

The battle would not wait for him to sort out the nerves inside his chest.

It never did.

#

Hours of travel bred boredom, as it turned out, even if there was a Sith wearing the face of your dearest friend in the seat across from you. Not-Obi-Wan had set their course, giving Anakin a sharp look when he questioned the path set; it took them further away from Coruscant, swinging to a planet in Wild Space before they returned to standard hyperspace paths.

“I just don’t understand why we need to go to some backwater,” Anakin said, feeling itchy to get to Coruscant as quickly as possible, to get under the Temple and back to a place where everything felt normal. 

“You don’t need to understand,” not-Obi-Wan said, standing and turning to leave the bridge. “It has to be done.”

Anakin considered sincerely throttling him, but only for a moment. “But why?” he demanded, following along after not-Obi-Wan, and for a moment he thought he might get an answer. Not-Obi-Wan glanced at him, his expression almost… yearning.

It passed. Not-Obi-Wan shook his head. He said, “It won’t take us long,” and would say nothing further, though he did, at least, agree to play Sabacc. The rules appeared to be slightly different, but Anakin barely cared. He needed something to distract him, and finding out that, even across dimensions, Obi-Wan could beat him soundly at Sabacc was sufficient.

“I don’t suppose the me from here is any better at this game?” Anakin grumbled, the second time not-Obi-Wan beat him, laying his cards down with a flourish that Anakin felt was truly unnecessary.

Not-Obi-Wan smiled, something fond and fleeting, as he shook his head. “No, I’m afraid he might be worse.” He looked up, gathering their cards. “He has less patience than you do.”

Anakin frowned, watching his shuffle. “I’m patient,” he said, intentionally baiting, because he knew that it would make Obi-Wan snort a laugh and--and it made not-Obi-Wan do the same thing, amusement in his expression. Anakin got caught up in watching the way his emotions played across his eyes and the quirk of his mouth, jerking his gaze away when not-Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are we…” Anakin started, looking down at the cards dealt in front of him and picking them up, almost absently, trying to deflect attention away from the fact that he’d been openly staring, “are we much alike? Him and I?”

Not-Obi-Wan kept his eyes on his cards when he answered, “Yes. You are.” Anakin shivered. He’d - he’d expected nothing less, in all honesty. He’d always been so angry, the Jedi had said. Too angry. Too afraid. Too--

Maybe they’d been right, the entire time.

Memories of finding his mother, of that awful night on Tatooine, swarmed up behind his eyes, and he looked to the side, blinking rapidly. Women and children, cut down with a lightsaber, on the hot sands or in the cool stone paths of a cavern; there really wasn’t much of a difference, he considered, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

“And your Obi-Wan,” not-Obi-Wan continued, diverting Anakin’s thoughts, pulling him from the terrible spiral. “Do we resemble each other?”

Anakin glanced back up at him, the smooth lines of his cheeks, the longer fall of his hair, but that was just trappings. Even the gleam in his eyes of gold…

The cosmetic differences only represented the larger, underlying changes, in any case. He looked away again. “I... not really. I mean. You talk like him, move like thim. Play Sabacc like him,” he snorted. “But my Obi-Wan. He’s…”

Anakin swallowed, thickly, fierce longing filling up his throat, trying to suffocate him. Not-Obi-Wan had gone still, one hand stretched out to draw another card, waiting. His silence drew more words from Anakin’s chest. “He’s--he saves people. He’d never - never kill a child. Or--I don’t know. There’s no room for the Dark in him. That’s not--who he is.”

He finished, his tongue awkward in his mouth, a hundred things he wished he knew how to say swirling through his mind. Trying to force all the things he knew about Obi-Wan down into words felt like a task beyond him. 

Obi-Wan could be impatient. Sharp-tongued. He always thought he knew best, he didn’t consider emotions because he had his so suppressed, but-- But he was bright and sharp through the Force. Achingly so. He’d do anything to help someone in need. He’d set himself on fire to keep someone else warm, if Anakin weren’t there to stop him. He’d--

“You miss him,” not-Obi-Wan said, quietly, finally completing his move and leaning back. 

Anakin arranged the cards in his hand, half-blindly. He didn’t care that he was going to lose again, almost certainly. There was an instinctive urge in him to deny it, to claim that he didn’t need Obi-Wan, or feel colder when he was not there. That was not the Jedi way, and--and he was a General in his own right, he didn’t  _ need  _ to be holding onto Obi-Wan’s robes. It was like the Chancellor said, he could stand on his own, rise to heights Obi-Wan would never reach, he didn’t--

But, oh, Anakin missed having Obi-Wan’s light and warmth at his side, missed it the same way he missed his hand. Felt it, sometimes, a phantom presence that he knew couldn’t be coming from the shadow version of Obi-Wan across from him.

And what did it matter to admit it, in this twisted place, where everyone thought he was someone else, where no one even knew his Obi-Wan. He watched not-Obi-Wan lay down his cards, neatly winning the game, and rasped, “Yes.”

Not-Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, before standing. “I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, his hand resting on Anakin’s shoulder, just for a moment, and in that heartbeat Anakin wanted him to be Obi-Wan so badly that he felt, even through the Force, like a perfect duplicate.

Anakin swallowed, turned his face to the side, and said nothing.

#

Obi-Wan looked at his available forces, the Separtist fleet, and knew that, likely, they stood no chance of holding the planet. That didn’t change their orders and that didn’t miraculously give him a way to protect all the world’s native inhabitants.

He simply had to find a way to do the impossible, something that seemed to be asked of him more and more often as the war ground on. If nothing else, worries about the battle pushed some of his worries about Shadow to the side. Worry about Anakin - trapped in some other world, to the best of Obi-Wan’s knowledge - simmered beneath every thought.

He took what comfort he could in knowing that Anakin was strong and clever. He’d be alright, in whatever horrible place Shadow came from, if anyone could be. He’d be alright, until Obi-Wan could get him out of there.

He had to be.

But those were worries for a time when no one was trying to kill Obi-Wan, if such a time might ever arrive again. He deployed the troops available to him, he made plans that would likely fall apart, and he went out to fight, Shadow walking at his side, radiating displeasure.

Obi-Wan glanced across at him and said, once more, “You’d be safer back at camp.”

“You’d be safer off of this world,” he countered, with a frown. “But since I can’t convince you to leave, I suppose this is what we’re going to do, instead.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, went to speak with Cody, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Battle found them, once more, the madness and brutality of it. The stench of death filled the air, the noise of it deafened, the too-bright flashes of blaster bolts and explosions left Obi-Wan blinking away spots, and the worst of it was that none of it felt shocking anymore.

He felt… almost numb. Disconnected. He’d fought so many battles, destroyed so many droids, watched so many men die, felt the way the Force shuddered and quaked from the destruction. But the part of him that had felt so much revulsion and horror at the beginning of the war seemed to have broken, somewhere along the way. Broken and scarred over.

It was, he supposed, for the best. He would be a dead man so many times over, if grief swallowed and distracted him on the battlefield. So many of his men would be dead, if he could not focus past the horror, to keep them alive.

The thoughts ran through his head, disjointed and miserable, as the battle began in earnest, an entire army determined to wipe them completely off of the face of the planet. Shadow fought at his side, sticking close, dark eyes scanning the battlefield. He wore an expression of anger and distaste, as the droids swarmed them.

And perhaps Obi-Wan should have expected the lightning that he threw from his hands, but it came as a surprise, nonetheless. Shadow wiped out entire swaths of the droids, eyes blazing crimson, electric-blue power dancing to his whims.

The shock of feeling the Force used in such a way, twisted, made Obi-Wan stumble a step. He had  _ seen  _ Force lightning used for no ill purpose before. Master Plo Koon had an aptitude with it and would use it when the situation called for it, but--

But when Shadow used it there was nothing but anger in his mind. Fierce hatred. It left Obi-Wan feeling itchy, uneasy, though he could hardly complain. The droids fell under the assault, his men were not swept away in the initial assault. Instead the battle dragged onward, until he felt exhausted, until even raising his arms was a challenge managed only with the aid of the Force, and the Separatist gunships arrived.

Obi-Wan watched them approach and barked a laugh. They were supposed to have air cover, he thought, absently, taking the moment to flex his fingers; they were cramping from holding his saber for so long. “Alright,” he said, his throat parched, “I need to get up there, and--”

“Wait,” Shadow interrupted, turning to frown at him, “your plan is to  _ go up there _ ? That’s how you plan to bring down those ships?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, exhaustion made everything seem so clear and sharp. He said, “Well, do you have a better idea?”

Shadow stared at him. “Set up artillery. That’ll bring them down--”

Obi-Wan was already shaking his head. “Not quickly enough. They’d wipe out half my men by the time we did enough damage.” He shoved his hair back, eyeing up the mountain ridges around their position, considering which peak might get him high enough to leap across to the gunships.

“So?” Shadow demanded, grabbing his arm when he made to move off.

Obi-Wan cast him a look and pulled his arm free. “So, I won’t let that happen,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He drew on the Force, leaping up the side of the cliff, scrambling for brief handholds and spaces to wedge his toes, barely breathing until he’d reached the top.

The gunships were slow, at least. Too heavy with weaponry to be fast, he supposed. He sniffed, ignored the burning ache in his legs, and sprinted for them, throwing himself out over nothingness - so much empty air between him and the ground - and landing in a roll on the nearest ship. 

He was cutting his way through the hull by the time droids started swarming up from the inside, chattering to each other, blasters in hand. He swore, glancing up, and a dark shape landed between his position and the droids, saber lit and spinning.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan demanded, punching his way through, into the ship below, too tired even to feel the thrum of success.

“Keeping you alive,” Shadow said, a wild, joyful expression on his face. He yanked Obi-Wan back and jumped down into the ship first, into the midst of a dozen droids, his saber little more than a blur from how fast he moved. He reappeared a moment later, smoke billowing out after him as he added, “someone obviously needs to. Come on, this one is going down.”

They leapt across to the next and the next, leaving a trail of destruction behind, the troopers on the ground cheering as the last of the gigantic ships blazed to the earth, landing amongst the flank of the droid army. They rode it down, Shadow gripping Obi-Wan’s arm as the hull hit ground, the shock of the impact racing through crumpling metal.

And, in the aftermath, as the smoke blew to the side, Shadow was still holding on, gazing at Obi-Wan with a grin that looked far too much like Anakin’s. “That was amazing,” he said, panting.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “We’re not done yet,” he said; none of it felt amazing to him. Just more of the same slogging misery through all the hours of the day, until, at last, the droids just… stopped coming.

That was as close to victory as they ever got, Obi-Wan considered, moving back to camp afterwards, resiting the urge to limp. He nodded at troopers, spoke a few words of comfort, dragging up the energy for it, walking, finally, into the cool dimness of his space and finally allowing himself to stop.

His moment of rest was scant seconds in length, before someone else pushed in behind him. Shadow, who still had energy, somehow, almost vibrating with it as he tugged the tent closed. “How did you learn to fight like that?” he asked, by way of opening volley, circling around Obi-Wan, his eyes wide and hungry.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, shaking off the urge to just… stand in place until morning. “We’ve been fighting this war for almost four years.”

Shadow nodded. “And you fight like that, all the time?”

Obi-Wan desperately wanted to get out of his filthy clothes, if he were not to be able to rest. He felt disgusting, covered in sweat and oil, more than a little blood; most of it was his. But he just as desperately wanted to keep on as many layers as possible around Shadow. He grimaced. “I know it’s not much, but--”

Shadow grabbed him, suddenly, hands on his shoulders and eyes blazing with intensity. “Not--? That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” He looked Obi-Wan up and down, his eyes dark and wide, sliding a hand across Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “It was like watching art,” he said, “and you do that  _ all the time _ ?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, making to step to the side, a bitter slant to his mouth. “There’s nothing--”

“I don’t know how my double restrains himself,” Shadow said, interrupting, keeping his hands on Obi-Wan, bending closer. “If he sees you like this  _ constantly _ .”

“Not everyone finds battle so impressive,” Obi-Wan said, tugging a hand away; Shadow had gripped it lightly, turned it palm up and set to tracing the lines of his palm. In truth, there was still a thrumming in his veins, left over from the fight. He planned to meditate it down to a reasonable level, that he might sleep, but--

But so much physical contact, the closeness of another body, and the obvious interest Shadow was putting out, were making that decision more difficult to hold onto. He shook his head. “Does not your Obi-Wan fight?”

Shadow made a little sound, drawing back at the mention of Obi-Wan’s double, if only for a moment. “Not like that,” he said. “He doesn’t… throw himself into battles, like he’d do anything to succeed.” And he was pressing close again, curling an arm around Obi-Wan when Obi-Wan stepped to the side, plastering his chest to Obi-Wan’s back.

“But after a fight,” Shadow continued, breath warm against Obi-Wan’s ear, “he  _ is  _ always running hot. Tense.” He flattened a hand on Obi-Wan’s stomach, a burning brand over layers of robes. “It’s a problem I know just how to help with.”

And it was more tempting than it should have been, abruptly. The offer for someone to just… step in and tend to him, for a few moments, even in so carnal a fashion. To have someone else ease a bit of the noise in his head. To feel something like good, to put out the fires under his skin. His breath hitched, without his control, a thousand images unfolding all at once behind his eyes.

But it was a temptation for something he couldn’t have. He was tired enough to consider it, worn down enough to allow, for a moment, the warmth of Shadow’s body close to his, familiar arms around him.

Shadow wasn’t Anakin.

And if he were, he would not be making such an offer.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, deep grief welling within him. He marshalled the scraps of energy remaining to him, and said, “It’s a problem I can handle well enough on my own, thank you.”

Shadow hummed, nuzzling against Obi-Wan’s hair. “But you don’t have to,” he said, quiet and thick. “Let me help. What could it hurt?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, in that moment, exactly what it would hurt. But he felt certain it would hurt  _ something _ . He shook his head, twisting until Shadow released his grip with a regretful little sound. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” he said, and, when Shadow opened his mouth, he added, “I don’t need help with--”

He cut off when Shadow jerked at his back, flashing sudden pain and shock out into the Force. Obi-Wan jerked towards him even as he collapsed downwards, his eyes rolling back in his head as his limbs shook. Obi-Wan caught him before he hit the ground, feeling his body shake and jerk, twisting around and yelling, tone falling easily and without thought into a shout that he knew would carry across a battlefield, “Medic! I need a medic!”

#

Anakin braced himself for crawling into bed with not-Obi-Wan a second time, half-hard at the thought of it and disgusted with himself. He scowled across into his own eyes in the fresher, delaying the movement to go out and slide between the sheets, to feel not-Obi-Wan’s body so close, all bare skin and promises and--

And the pain started in his jaw - already clenched - so minor at first that Anakin almost failed to note it. It spread like wildfire, though, down his neck and up into his skull, all at once. He tried to open his mouth, to cry out for assistance, but his jaw would not open. He tried to breathe and couldn’t, tried to hold on to consciousness and--

And blinked, hurting all over, laying in soft sheets with no clear recollection of how he got onto them. He ached from his scalp to the pads of his feet. It felt like someone had scraped nails down the insides of his skin. 

“Sh, sh,” not-Obi-Wan said, quietly, “it’s alright, you’re alright.”

He was… sitting on the bed. Dressed still as though he were ready to go to bed, which meant he was barely dressed at all. He had a hand on Anakin’s neck, checking his pulse, Anakin realized after a moment.

Anakin groaned. His mind felt full of fog and smoke. He slurred, tasing blood in his mouth, “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” not-Obi-Wan said, still leaning over him, his hair falling forward. “Is this some condition you have?”

Anakin shook his head, tired and hurting, though the pain was beginning to recede back. He reached out, vaguely, and managed to get a hand on not-Obi-Wan’s leg. He held on, needing something in the world to act as anchor.

Obi-Wan had always kept him from getting lost.

“No,” he said, his voice a rasp. “No, nothing like that’s ever happened before. Your Anakin…?”

Not-Obi-Wan shook his head, frowning over him. “No, he’s healthy.”

Anakin groaned, scrubbing at his face. He felt… groggy, peering up into not-Obi-Wan’s face. “So, what happened, then?” A cold thought moved through him, one he swallowed back before he could speak it. He wondered, half-dazed still, what the effect of moving to a parallel dimension would be on the body, and shuddered.

“I don’t know,” not-Obi-Wan said, his mouth pressing thin as he reached out, palm on Anakin’s head. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again.”

Anakin swallowed, remembering the wash of pain up through him. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s hope.”


	2. Chapter 2

Shadow’s strange fit left him unconscious for nearly an hour; not terribly long, in the grand scheme of things. Obi-Wan spent the entire period with his heart banging at his ribs, watching medics run scan after scan, trying to get him stabilized, arguing with one another about his brain wave patterns and strange readings and--

Obi-Wan needed no instruments to tell that something was very, very wrong. It reverberated out through the Force. He felt Shadow’s pain, but it was… something more than that. A feeling as though he were there and not there, all at once. A sense of wrongness.

The medics had found no answers by the time Shadow stirred, cracking his eyes open and croaking, “Obi-Wan?”

“After a fashion,” Obi-Wan said, stepping to the bed and gazing down at him. He thought it best to establish that he was not, truly, this version of Anakin’s Obi-Wan as quickly as possible, though so far that had done little to dissuade him from his affections. “How do you feel?”

Shadow sat all at once, peeling a few sensors from his head as he did and tossing them away. “Wretched,” he said, scrubbing at his face and then reaching out, almost absently, snagging Obi-Wan’s arm. “What happened to me?”

He scowled throughout Obi-Wan’s explanation that they had no idea, truly. He scowled, but did not release Obi-Wan’s arm, as though worried, perhaps, that he would go somewhere. He said, when Obi-Wan finished, “And you brought me here, to get treatment?”

“Of course I did,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the hint of surprise in Shadow’s voice, hoping that, if Anakin had experienced the same condition, someone had cared for him. He doubted it, based on what he’d learned of the other world.

He did not like to think of Anakin, slumped somewhere, unable to defend himself, in such a perilous place.

Shadow flashed him a smile, something sharp, and said, almost chiding, “Soft,” before reaching up to tug on a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair. 

Obi-Wan scowled at him. He felt no measure of soft at all and was not sure, any longer, if ever he had. Life had worn him away, down into something hard as rock. He said, “Would you prefer that I had left you to suffer?”

“Oh, no,” Shadow said, rising off the bed and ignoring the protests of the medics. “I’m glad you did. You just remind me of him. My Obi-Wan.”

“Does he drag you to the medics, too?” Obi-Wan asked, waving off the troopers who approached, ready to drag Shadow back for further care at a moment’s notice. Shadow seemed steady enough on his feet, heading towards the door and frowning up at the night sky.

“Sometimes,” he said, his expression shifting, his eyes putting off a faint glow in the darkness. “Often it’s the other way around.” He stopped, all at once, turning to frown across at Obi-Wan. “When we go to Coruscant, are you going to be punished for,” he gestured, “this?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Punished?” He considered the Council’s likely reaction - he needed to speak with them, and quickly, there just hadn’t been any  _ time  _ \- and shook his head. “No, I don’t see why I would be.”

Shadow’s shoulders relaxed, sinking back down as he blew out a breath. “Good.” He glanced at the sky again. “You haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t slept,” Obi-Wan confirmed, though that was hardly a concern. He rarely had the time or ability to sleep the whole night through. Shadow was not the only one with nightmares. Obi-Wan’s saw fit to wake him on the rare days he was given enough time to sleep through the night. “Will my Anakin and your Obi-Wan be punished?”

He received no answer for a moment, Shadow’s expression merely darkened further as they walked through the camp, finally arriving at Obi-Wan’s tent. He said, stiff, “My Obi-Wan will look after him, I’m sure. Don’t worry.” The words did nothing but feed worry into Obi-Wan’s chest. He opened his mouth, and Shadow said, “We should sleep.”

Obi-Wan frowned over at him in the dimmer light within the tent. “I’d like to learn more about your world.” He wanted to know what Anakin was dealing with, even if there was no conceivable way that Obi-Wan could provide him with help. It would let him worry more accurately, perhaps.

Shadow huffed, dragging off his outer tunic and throwing it to the side, turning and sinking down onto the cot. He looked fond, all at once, the frustration washing out of him as he gazed up at Obi-Wan. “Of course you do,” he said, toeing off his boots. “Fine. Come here. A question for a question, until you fall asleep.”

He stretched out on his side, on one elbow, pose full of expectation that Obi-Wan would just… crawl in beside him. Obi-Wan considered arguing against it and crawling into his own bunk, instead, but…. If this were the most prudent way to get answers… He huffed a sigh and walked over, Shadow holding up a hand and saying, “You can’t sleep wearing all of that, be sensible.”

Obi-Wan cast him a frown that he met with a grin, as though this were all great fun for him. And Shadow watched, dark eyes hungry and curious, as Obi-Wan pulled off one layer and made to crawl in. “Ah,” Shadow said, shaking his head, smirking, “come on.”

“Do you expect me to be naked?” Obi-Wan asked, even as he removed the inner tunic, leaving only his undershirt. After a frowning moment, he shoved down his slacks as well. Force knew they only tangled around his legs when he wore them to sleep. 

“Expect, no,” Shadow said, “but maybe we’ll get there.” He reached out and snagged Obi-Wan’s arm, dragging him closer and then down. Obi-Wan found himself embraced, snugged into place, Shadow’s warm body curled around his. He stiffened when Shadow made a little humming sound, shimmying a little closer and flattening his hand on Obi-Wan’s chest. “There,” he said. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, startled to find that the answer wasn’t completely true. There was something deeply soothing about having someone else so close, about being held, about feeling Anakin’s familiar hand against him, only it was not Anakin. This was something he’d never have with Anakin, something his Anakin didn’t even want. 

He forced the thoughts away. “That’s a question for you,” he said, and Shadow snorted a laugh against the back of his neck, far, far too close. Obi-Wan ignored the way it made his skin tingle. “I told my Anakin about the ruins below the Temple. He’ll remember.” Obi-Wan had to believe he would remember. “Will your Obi-Wan take him there?”

“Oh, yes,” Shadow said, without even a moment’s doubt or hesitation. “If he thinks it’ll get me back. My turn, then.” He tightened his arm, preemptively, and then asked, “Have you had other lovers, instead of me - the other me?”

Obi-Wan attempted to pull away, and Shadow laughed, snagging him closer, murmuring, when they settled, Obi-Wan half-pinned to the bed, “Fair is fair, you promised me an answer for an answer.”

Obi-Wan scowled up at him, unsure why he’d thought Shadow would use the questions to learn anything useful. He said, feeling heat in his cheeks and Shadow’s leg stretched across his, “No, I have not, as a matter of fact.” Shadow’s eyes widened, going darker, and Obi-Wan kept a hand braced on his chest, desperate to change the subject though his thoughts were a jumble, “So, there’s still a Jedi Order where you come from?” 

“Yes,” Shadow said, offering no further information. “Why have you not?”

“I--” Obi-Wan cut his gaze to the side, frowning. “There was never time. And the Code, my old Master he--”

Shadow stiffened, all at once, pushing up on one arm with a look darker than any Obi-Wan had seen from him before. “Jinn,” he snapped, fiercely. “He is here?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, deciding to offer the answer out of order, since at least the question was easier to handle. “No, he died. Long ago.”

“Good,” Shadow said, vehemence in the way he shaped the word, leaving Obi-Wan to blink at him in confusion. His Anakin had nothing but fond memories of Qui-Gon, perhaps… slightly idealized. But that was only to be expected. Obi-Wan had not been prepared at all for him to continue, “You killed him?”

For a moment, Obi-Wan could only see Qui-Gon on the ground, cut down too early, and-- And how many times had Obi-Wan wondered if he had not been at fault for that death? If he had just been a little faster, a little better, a little more prepared for what was going on… But that was not what Shadow was asking. “No,” he said, “I didn’t.”

Shadow’s mouth twisted. He looked to the side. “I’m sorry you were denied the right.”

Obi-Wan pushed up on his elbows, uncomfortable with the hatred in Shadow’s voice. He knew, well enough, that people were not the same where Shadow came from.  _ Shadow  _ was not the same person as Anakin. It still made him feel cold inside when he asked, “Was he so terrible, where you’re from?”

Shadow scowled at nothing, for a long moment, gaze distant and hands clenched to fists, and said, only, “Yes,” in answer, a muscle in his jaw clenching. 

A sick sort of curiosity filled Obi-Wan’s mind. Everything about Shadow’s posture warned that there were nothing but answers he wouldn’t like to find if he continued, but he could not stop himself. “Why?”

Shadow shook his head, a curt movement. He swallowed, and said, “Ask something else, or go to sleep.” Obi-Wan stared at his profile, at the tension in his neck and the way his hands had stayed clenched, and nodded. 

He asked, instead, about the way Shadow’s people saw the Force - they had no concept of a Dark or Light side, it seemed - and the nature of the Order. The Jedi, according to Shadow, were something like… enforcers, Obi-Wan supposed. Carrying out the will of the Empire, a duty so close to their normal function that it made Obi-Wan’s stomach ache.

He had wondered, more than once, if the orders they carried out from the Senate were always… correct. Not all of them had felt like choices he could live with, at the time. He’d found a way to obey, but, perhaps, a part of him had died each time. Perhaps, if enough parts of the Order died, they’d become what they were in Shadow’s world. So suffused with darkness that they’d forgotten even how to distinguish it from the light.

Digging out more information became difficult. Shadow claimed he cared little for history, but the further into the past Obi-Wan directed his questions, the more the events of their worlds seemed to align.

There had been a war between Force users in the distant past of Shadow’s world, but, somehow, it had led not to the formation of the Galactic Republic. Instead, the Empire had formed in the aftermath, and ruled henceforth.

Shadow, for his part, kept his questions vague, mimicking Obi-Wan’s, though he seemed to care little for the answers or the game. He stayed tense, distant, even as Obi-Wan’s eyes grew heavier, until he could hold them open no longer and drifted off to troubled dreams, mind full of images of a world he did not know.

#

Not-Obi-Wan told Anakin he’d been unconscious barely an hour with the strange ailment, but could provide no explanations for it. The memory of the pain and the sudden unconsciousness ate away at Anakin throughout the hours of travel they had ahead of them, to, apparently a stop that they had no choice but to make on their way to Coruscant.

When not-Obi-Wan said they were visiting a disreputable space port, Anakin had imaged something like Mos Espa. A city loud and hot, filthy, jammed full of people who mostly didn’t want to be there, who had nowhere better to go.

The reality was a bit different. Rivika was smaller than Mos Espa. Run down. The planet where it was located was rainy, or at least it was during the entire time they were in port. Lightning and thunder filled the air with a tang, the electricity caught and brought down by huge poles around the city that routed it directly into capacitors.

Perhaps it was the rain that kept people contained. Mos Espa had been tremendously noisy, all the time. People bartered in the markets, argued and fought in the streets, and engaged in all manner of their business in front of stalls or in the middle of the road. On Rivika, the streets had an empty, haunted feel.

There were buildings lit up, and people moved through the streets, but they kept their faces turned aside and moved quietly, sticking to shadows when possible. Still, Anakin got the feeling they were watched, when they moved through the docks to arrange to get more fuel.

“But our storage tanks were full when we left Ghulluvia,” Anakin said, for the third time, as he followed behind not-Obi-Wan, relieved, at least, that he’d been allowed off of the ship. Not-Obi-Wan had been concerned that he’d make a scene and relented only due to the worry that Anakin would have another attack while he was gone, if he did not come along. “I don’t see how we could be low enough to require a stop so soon.”

“Maybe we had a leak,” not-Obi-Wan said, with an absent little shrug. “Do vehicles not malfunction where you come from?”

He spoke to the dock master off to one side, while Anakn stood in the mold-smelling office, looking out over the falling rain. They spoke quietly, but Anakin heard the clanking exchange of credits. Perhaps purchasing fuel on this rock was a matter of some clandestine concern. Perhaps not-Obi-Wan was selling him out. Perhaps--

“We should get something to eat,” not-Obi-Wan said, touching Anakin’s arm as he approached. “It will take a bit of time for them to finish.”

Anakin almost protested - he just wanted to go to Coruscant - but he  _ was  _ hungry. And nutripacks grew unsatisfying after a time, though he thought the ones in this place were better than the ones he’d grown accustomed to. He only nodded, following not-Obi-Wan to a little restaurant with a scattered handful of mismatched tables.

No one looked at them when they entered. The droid that took their order managed to look like it wanted to be anywhere but there. Anakin frowned after it as he shrugged off his wet cloak, and said, “It has a restraining bolt.”

“Yes.” Not-Obi-Wan pulled his chair around, putting his back against the wall and settling with his lightsaber clearly visible. “Droids generally do.”

Reflexive horror washed through Anakin at the thought. He wondered, with an ache, if R2-D2 were out there, somewhere, with a restraining bolt in place, keeping him limited and contained. He asked, quietly, “Why?”

Not-Obi-Wan glanced over at him, head tilting to the side. “After the uprising, it was deemed prudent,” he said, his tone calm and even.

Anakin leaned back, trying to fit this new piece of information into what he already knew of this place. “There was a droid uprising? When?”

Not-Obi-Wan shrugged. “Perhaps eight years ago? It was a short and bloody conflict, mostly contained to the Rim worlds. The only people foolish enough now to use droids without a restraining bolt are the rebels.”

Anakin was beginning to like these rebels more and more. He hoped R2 was with them, if R2 existed, if he hadn’t been destroyed long ago, or never built, or… Anakin shook his head, setting the thoughts aside as the droid delivered their food without saying a word.

“I get the feeling,” Anakin said, poking through the arrangement on his plate with faint curiosity. He couldn’t identify any of the foods. “That no one here likes us very much.”

Not-Obi-Wan snorted, glancing around the room. “Do you think so? I guarantee you, if you ask anyone on this planet, they’ll tell you how happy they are to have a pair of Masters in their midst, that they’re delighted to help the Empire in any way they can.”

Anakin’s stomach cramped. He took a bite of the food anyway and found it… palatable. He’d eaten worse, he supposed. “Sure,” he said. “But what they’re not saying is…?”

For a moment, he received no answer, and then not-Obi-Wan seemed to reach a decision. He swallowed and asked, “What is your Order like, where you come from? What do you do?”

Anakin blinked, taken a bit by surprise by the question, more startled by exactly how much not-Obi-Wan sounded like his Obi-Wan in that moment, as though he were preparing to launch into a lesson or a negotiation. Anakin frowned down at his plate. “I--right now we’re Generals. We’ve spent almost four years at war, where I’m from.”

Not-Obi-Wan hummed. “But before that?”

Anakin shrugged, leaning back in his chair. It grew more and more difficult to think about  _ before that _ . He tapped his utensil against his plate, trying to recall better times. “Before that we were peace-keepers.” He trailed off, waving a hand to one side.

Beside him, not-Obi-Wan nodded. “And how did you keep the peace? What methods did you use?”

Anakin frowned. “The Jedi, we’d… we’d go to different planets based on orders from the Senate. Assist with negotiations between disputing parties, help those in need… Mostly we talked a lot. Tried to find compromises that worked for everyone. Sometimes we fought, as a last resort.”

Not-Obi-Wan sighed. He leaned back in his chair, gaze scanning across the room again, watchful. He said, “So, I suspect that, when the Senate sent you out to handle a dispute, you did not do so by executing malcontents in the town square.”

Anakin froze, blinking over at him, cold rushing down his spine, though he had seen those murdered in the caverns. He rasped, quietly, “What?”

Not-Obi-Wan’s expression stayed perfectly still. “Mm,” he said. “Our Order keeps the peace, as well. After a fashion. We are the right hand of the Emperor himself. We ensure his laws are obeyed. We wipe out dissent that could disrupt the peace of the galaxy. We bring… order. Stability. Prosperity.” He sounded blank, all of a sudden. Empty and tired. “We ensure the glorious Emperor’s orders are followed.”

Anakin shivered, the words and his tone filing Anakin with creeping dread. It didn’t sound so bad, stability, peace, and prosperity. Order. Force knew Anakin had thought more than once that his galaxy needed more order, needed someone to take a firm hand and fix all the things going wrong--

He’d somehow never considered that the cost might be women and children, dead under a mountain, carved down where they’d stood. It left him feeling odd inside, cold and sick.

“And so,” not-Obi-Wan continued, as Anakin stared down at his plate, wondering if he would be ill, “the people are… ever so happy to see us, when we arrive.”

“They’re worried we might kill them,” Anakin said, quietly. “That’s why no one will look at us.”

“Oh,” not-Obi-Wan said, shrugging, “some of the bolder ones are probably wondering if they could kill us, no doubt to exact some vengeance for a father, or a mother, or a lover that… stood against the Empire. The Rebellion is full of such people.”

“How big is this Rebellion?” Anakin asked, pushing his plate away. He’d lost all traces of his appetite, in any case. A part of him had assumed the rebels had all been wiped out on Ghulluvia, but that sounded not to be the case.

Not-Obi-Wan shrugged. “Oh, only a few people here and there,” he said, voice flat and quiet, “scattered malcontents. Their desire to tear down everything the Emperor stands for prevents them from working together, despite the urging of their leadership. And, of course,” he said, mouth twisting, and Anakin heard the - the mocking sharpness in his tone, there and gone, “only a few mad souls would ever want to stand against the glorious Emperor.”

Anakin stared at him, watching his eyes, and said, after a moment, “Alright. Now I know what the Empire says about how many of them there are. How many are there, really?”

Not-Obi-Wan glanced up, his eyes so familiar that it felt like getting punched in the gut, despite their golden glow. His mouth quirked. “You’re clever,” he said, surprised and fond. “There are probably millions of them. Perhaps billions, spread out amongst the Rim worlds and Wild Space, mostly.”

“That’s… a lot of people,” Anakin said, his gut clenching, considering so many people banding together to fight against something. It was… difficult to imagine. Where he’d come from, everyone had been content to sit back, to allow the Jedi and the clones to fight the Separatists. Only a few people had ever raised a hand to help.

“Not enough to succeed in their goals,” not-Obi-Wan said, looking away again.

Anakin stared at him, the fall of his hair against his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. He said, quietly, “Maybe if they had some more help.”

“It’s dangerous to help,” not-Obi-Wan said, quietly. “Everyone knows that, after what happened to Naboo.”

Ice speared down through Anakin. His breath caught for a moment. He asked, voice coming from far away, “What happened to Naboo?”

Not-Obi-Wan took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. “It was years ago,” he said, flat. “The people there didn’t agree with an arrangement made by the Emperor. They attempted to… leave. Go their own way. Become an independent world, again. As Mandalore was at the time.”

Anakin’s heart raced as though he’d just walked off a battlefield. His gut hurt. He repeated, unable to look away from not-Obi-Wan’s expression, “What happened?”

“The dissidents were removed,” not-Obi-Wan said. “Thoroughly. The planet has been resettled, now. The Emperor is especially fond of it, I hear, especially the Lake Region and--are you alright?”

Anakin thought he might be ill. He asked, his thoughts all buzzing noise, “There would have been a woman there, maybe. Padmé. Padmé Amidala, I don’t know if you--”

Not-Obi-Wan reached out and grabbed him, startling and fast, his eyes blazing as he hissed, “Be careful where you speak that name. And how loudly you speak it.”

Anakin stared at him, the fierce look on his face, vaguely aware that everyone else in the cafe was, very pointedly, not looking at them. He asked, keeping his tone as quiet as he could. “Why?”

Not-Obi-Wan eased back after a moment, gaze still on Anakin. “Because,” he said, “members of the Order don’t speak of the Rebellion’s leadership with such worry in their voices.” He stood up, tossing a few credits on the table. “They should be done with the ship by now,” he said, pulling his hood back up. “Unless you wish to stay here longer?”

And Anakin felt eyes on his back, the entire passage through Rivika, even with his thoughts preoccupied with what he had been told. He felt anger and hatred in the air, directed at him. But not-Obi-Wan walked with his back straight and his head high, as though he didn’t notice it at all. He said nothing as they reached the ship, disappearing back to check that nothing had been taken, he said, and Anakin watched him access the hold from the main controls.

Anakin mentioned it not, when not-Obi-Wan returned to check on him, when they played a few games of Sabacc and eventually retired to sleep, Anakin’s thoughts full of the dream of order and stability and the awful cost it had exacted on this place.

He tried to reassure himself that it could be different, that if  _ he  _ had the opportunity to fix things--

But there was a version of him in this shattered world. A version that left women and children dead under a mountain. A version with red eyes. Anakin did not sleep, staring at the ceiling of the cabin, his hands clenched tight and his heart aching in his chest.

#

The Council agreed with the necessity of bringing Shadow back to Coruscant, after Obi-Wan woke and managed to get a clear comm line through all the way to the Core. Shadow leaned against the wall beside him throughout the audience, gaze moving curiously over the members of the Council.

“Send teams to begin searching for the writing you saw beneath the Temple, we will,” Yoda said, as their connection began to degrade. “When return, you do, ready, we will be.”

“Thank you, Masters,” Obi-Wan said, to their flickering visages, and was not sure that the message made it all the way through before the holo faded completely. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Alright,” he said, glancing over at Shadow, “time to go.”

“Finally,” Shadow said, pushing away from the wall. He already had a bag slung over one shoulder. None of them carried many personal belongings in the field; none of them had very many personal belongings in general. Obi-Wan had packed his bag, gathering up Anakin’s things with careful hands. He had so little; Obi-Wan wouldn’t see any of it lost.

He had been frozen, struck with surprise, to find Ahsoka’s sabers among Anakin’s things, carefully packed and stowed as though… as though he wanted to be ready to find her at any time. As though he were only waiting for her to come back and…

It was one more thing to cut up under Obi-Wan’s skin in a long line of aching pains.

Obi-Wan grabbed his own pack - readied after he’d crawled out of the bunk, out of Shadow’s hold, for he’d had nightmares again in the night - and picked a way towards the transport. It was important that he bring Shadow back to Coruscant, but that didn’t mean they could justify dragging the  _ Negotiator  _ such a distance.

Their quarters were going to be more cramped, but the transport was sufficient to carry them and a handful of guards, just in case Shadow decided that he’d prefer to murder Obi-Wan and head off into the galaxy to make his own way.

Obi-Wan set such thoughts aside; they had been a concern raised by the Council. He got the feeling Shadow would not kill him, if at all possible. But practitioners of the Darkside could be so changeable. Their emotions could shift and turn, violently at times.

It chilled him, as they walked, to realize that such a description could fit his Anakin, just as easily as the man walking at his side. He said, pushing the thoughts away to consider later, “Recognize anyone on the Council?”

Shadow nodded, climbing the ramp to their transport. “Almost all of them,” he said. “They’re all high-ranking members of my Order. The only one I didn’t recognize was the little green troll.”

Obi-Wan choked on the sound that tried to rise in his throat, asking, “You mean Master Yoda?” To hear such a venerated member of the Order called a little green troll was… Well, a bit hilarious, if not remotely approaching respectful.

“Sure,” Shadow said. “I’ve never seen him before.” He frowned towards the cockpit. “I can pilot us, you know. I usually do.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Leave it to Gripper,” he said. He believed, fully, that Shadow wanted to get back to where he’d come from. But he still felt leery about the idea of trusting him with control of the vessel.

Shadow’s mouth twisted in distaste, and Obi-Wan thought they’d need to argue about it, even as he turned to move towards his quarters. But Shadow did not protest his right to operate the vehicle. Instead, he said, “I don’t know why you do that.”

Obi-Wan nudged the door controls with the Force, stepping into the familiar, sparse room beyond. “Do what?”

“Give them names,” Shadow said, stepping in behind him and shutting the door, moving to sprawl down on Obi-Wan’s bunk as though he owned it. He still wore an expression of… confusion blending with disgust.

Obi-Wan froze, looking over at him, “The troopers? Why would I not use their names?”

Shadow pushed up on his elbows, frowning. “Because they don’t  _ have  _ names. They’ve got numbers. They’re just… clones. They’re like droids. Just cheaper. And more useful. They don’t need restraining bolts.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach roiled. Acid burned the back of his throat. He said, “They’re men, no matter what their origins were.”

Shadow snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re just projecting. Just because they have skin and bone, it doesn’t make them sapient.”

Obi-Wan wanted to - to shake him. To recoil in shock and disgust. To hear such words come from Anakin’s mouth was horrifying. Anakin, who loved his men, so deeply. Who would fight past the point of reason to save them. Who likely considered Rex his best friend. Who--

“They are sapient by any definition of the term,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice steady with great effort, ignoring Shadow’s snort and eyeroll. “They have things they want. Things that frighten them. Names. Dreams.”

“You sound like the propaganda put out by the rebels. Clone rights.” Shadow scoffed, shaking his head. “But you’re all wrong. They’re just organic machines, that’s all they are. Do you know what they do when they’re not following orders? They just stand there, staring at nothing. Half the time they won’t even eat unless they’re ordered.”

Obi-Wan stared, wondering if he were exaggerating for effect, or if things really were so different where he came from. He wondered if there was something different in the make-up of the clones, but could not believe that anyone could create people and so strip them of their personhood.

He shook his head. “You should speak with some of the men here,” he said. “I think you’ll find out quickly how mistaken you are.”

Shadow shrugged, looking disinterested in the prospect, before he glanced up, eyes darkening, and added, “If it would please you.”

“It would,” Obi-Wan said, and blinked when Shadow rolled to his feet. He put his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, only briefly, leaned down and brushed a kiss across his cheek, and then was gone, through the door. The entire movement had the fluidity of a ritual completed so often it had become muscle memory.

Obi-Wan stood, frozen, after he left, staring at nothing.

#

Not-Obi-Wan preferred, Anakin discovered, on their journey, to meditate wearing next to nothing. Anakin, gaze drawn constantly to not-Obi-Wan’s straight shoulders, bare skin, and scattered freckles, half-wondered if it were a method used to get Anakin’s double more interested in meditation.

It worked on Anakin, anyway. He found himself peacefully sitting on the floor of the ship, legs dutifully folded, trying to seek inner peace, but not with any degree of true effort. Mostly, he was watching not-Obi-Wan from the corners of his half-lidded eyes, taking in the expanse of his skin, noting freckles here and there, and all the scars….

“See something that interests you?” not-Obi-Wan asked, eventually, jarring Anakin out of his consideration of the last remnants of fading bruises on his hips. There was something hopelessly intriguing about the knowledge that, if Anakin just reached out, his hands would fit the marks perfectly.

Caught, he dragged his gaze away, up to not-Obi-Wan’s amused expression. Anakin felt a flush rushing up the back of his neck, and gritted his teeth together, just for a moment. “I…” he started, and swallowed, trying to think of the best way to deflect attention away from his wandering gaze, “I--you have a lot of the same scars as my Obi-Wan,” he said, finally. “But they don’t all match.”

“Oh?” not-Obi-Wan asked, glancing down at his body, stretching out his arms and turning them palm up. “What is he missing?”

Anakin swallowed, uncomfortable even being given permission to  _ look _ . But he had been, he’d started this entire conversation with his wandering gaze. It felt only fair to see it through. He gestured, vaguely, and said, “Well, that mark on the back of your neck, for starters.”

The brand had caught his attention when not-Obi-Wan disrobed and sank down into a meditation post, his hair falling briefly forward and away from the skin. It was… ugly. Thick. Someone had pulled his hair aside, held him still, and burned the delicate skin over the back of his neck. 

It must have hurt like hell. The burn was angry looking, still. Extensive enough that it must have tinged at least a little each time he moved his head. It made Anakin’s hands want to curl to fists, just looking at it. He’d have liked to find whoever had done it and…

Not-Obi-Wan flinched, just a little, gaze cutting to the side. He put his hands back on his thighs, turning his shoulders to the side. He said, quietly, “I noticed you did not have the Brand. Where I am from, all members of the Order receive it, when they are approved to serve by the Emperor. He places it himself, to remind us always that we are his.”

Anakin shuddered, revulsion cresting through his chest in a sudden wave. There had been a brand on his skin, long ago, though it was small compared to the one not-Obi-Wan wore. He had requested it removed by the healers, when he was old enough to ask, removing Watto’s mark of ownership without regret or hesitation.

He hated the idea of Obi-Wan - any version of Obi-Wan - walking around with such a mark on him, with someone else believing they  _ owned  _ him. 

He flexed his fingers out, concentrating on his breathing though it did nothing to ease him. The anger in his gut remained right where it was, building up the longer he thought about it. He asked, voice gruffer than he wanted, “The other me, he has one, too?”

“Oh, yes,” not-Obi-Wan said, reaching a hand up and rubbing across the brand. “Though not as poorly done as mine, I must say. The Emperor always favored him, and is not… fond of me.”

Anakin scowled, feeling nothing but hatred for a man he’d never met. This place made him so much more aware of his anger, the darker turn so many of his emotions took. Were they stronger, he wondered, because this version of the world was so broken? Or had he simply… avoided thinking about them, in his world?

He swallowed. Considering the origins of his emotions did nothing to do away with them. He said, “This Emperor. Will we see him on Coruscant?” 

Not-Obi-Wan sighed. “Not if we can avoid it. I don’t know what he’d think, if he knew who you really were. Where you really came from. I told you, there have been stories about a person traveling as you do. And the Emperor has always been fond of the old legends and tales. They say he extended his life unnaturally through the stories of the old Jedi. Who knows what he would do with knowledge such as you possess.”

Anakin frowned, his thoughts growing heavier. “Maybe I could convince him I’m the other me.”

Not-Obi-Wan looked up at him and snorted a laugh. He said, amused, “And I don’t believe he’d be fooled. My Anakin has always been one of his favorites.”

Anakin shuddered. It hurt to think that some version of him could be favored by the man who had burned Obi-Wan so cruelly. He liked to think that if someone had done such to  _ his  _ Obi-Wan, that he would have…

Made them regret the error of their ways. Somehow.

He shook his head, frowning at the continued dark slant of his thought. He needed to distract himself, somehow. To think of something else. He asked, “Who is he, anyway? This Emperor?”

“We’re supposed to call him only the Emperor,” not-Obi-Wan said, shrugging. “But he has a name, like any other man.” Not-Obi-Wan looked to the side, expression closed off in a grimace again. “Before he took the throne, we called him Palpatine.”

Anakin stared, frozen. He said, his voice seeming to come from far away, “You’re lying.”

Everything about this place was wrong and twisted sideways, he knew that. But - but not-Obi-Wan was still so much like  _ his  _ Obi-Wan. There was something about him that seemed to burn true, even in this awful place. 

And Anakin had assumed -- the Chancellor was a kind man. A good man. He cared for Anakin and the safety of the Republic, and to hear that, in this place, he was - was the Emperor who Anakin had heard nothing but horror stories about, was…

Not-Obi-Wan blinked at him. “You know him? His copy, on your world?”

“I do,” Anakin said, shoving to his feet, needing to pace. “And he’s a good man, he’s Chancellor of the Senate, he--”

“Did he offer you training, there, too?” not-Obi-Wan asked, looking stiffly to the side. “Did he try to take over for your Obi-Wan?”

Anakin jerked back to look at him, confused. “Training in what?” he asked, the tumbling spiral of his thoughts momentarily thrown off their course.

Not-Obi-Wan shot him a look that seemed unimpressed. “In what else?” he asked. “The Force.”

Anakin’s frown deepened. He shook his head. “What are you talking about? He’s not Force sensitive.”

That earned him a sharp bark of laughter. Not-Obi-Wan pushed to his feet, grabbing his tunic as he rose. “He is the most powerful Force user I’ve ever met,” he said. His hand drifted towards the burns that crossed his shoulders, raised and ugly. Anakin had more than a few that looked just like them, the results of the application of Force lightning. “I should know.”

Anakin shook his head, feeling ill. He repeated, “You’re lying,” hearing the strain in his words even as he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, needing space he was unlikely to get in the little ship.

Just because Palpatine was a Force user in this place, he thought, storming in a dark temper through the ship, it didn’t mean the Chancellor was. Perhaps that could vary, though, thus far, Anakin had not seen such changes. But it could have been true, it had to be true, because if it wasn’t--

If it wasn’t, then the Chancellor was strong in the Force and had never said anything. 

Not even to Anakin.

Anakin could - almost - understand why someone might not come forward to the Order. Perhaps he’d been older when he discovered his abilities. Perhaps his family hadn’t wanted to send him to the Jedi for training. Such things happened.

But those it happened to didn’t  _ hide  _ their abilities, in Anakin’s experience. The difficulty of maintaining such a ruse would be prohibitive, if nothing else. The Force called out to others, always. Force users recognized one another, often with nothing more than a look. And even if he had chosen to hide, hide from everyone else, perhaps because Force users were not often trusted with positions of political power---

Why hadn’t he told Anakin?

They had been friends for years. He trusted the Chancellor with everything, with his worries and concerns. They discussed the Council, they’d spoken more than once about Anakin’s desire to be elevated to a Master, the Chancellor had comforted him when he lost Ahsoka--

And never, not once, had he intimated that he could use the Force, as well.

Anakin pressed both hands against the wall, breathing harder than necessary, running through dozens, hundreds of interactions over the years. Trying to find evidence that he was correct, that Palpatine had no ability to use the Force and realizing, with a sickening feeling of dread, that he could not recall sensing the Chancellor’s emotions, even once.

He could not recall getting a feel for him, that brush of connection with another mind that occurred regardless of whether someone could use the Force or not. There was nothing, not in any of his memories, no sense of what Palpatine thought or wanted.

Anakin stared forward at nothing, telling himself it didn’t mean anything. It was just this place, making him suspicious of a man who had never been anything but kind to him. He was jumping at shadows, seeing the worst….

But those platitudes did nothing to ease the sick worry inside his chest. It only grew and grew, disguising the onset of the pain in the back of Anakin’s skull that came on quick and terrible, another attack dragging him down into darkness, to the hard, unforgiving ground.

He woke with the taste of blood in his mouth, in a soft bed, not-Obi-Wan leaning over him, expression concerned as he said, “You had another attack, I think. You were unconscious longer than you were the last time. Are you feeling better?”

“No,” Anakin said, not quite looking at him, shivering down his back. “Not really.”

#

Obi-Wan slept hard that first night on the ship. Likely he should have kept a closer eye on Shadow, but he was exhausted, so often these days. The chance to just travel back to Coruscant was too useful to pass up. He slept deep, stirring only briefly at the feel of someone crawling from the bed, and then drifting off again.

He woke, finally, late in the day. He splashed water on his face, made himself orderly, and went out into the ship, for Shadow was not in his quarters. He’d expected to be awoken to Shadow’s attentions.

Obi-Wan found Shadow in the ship’s common area, engaged in some kind of game with the troopers. Shadow looked up as he entered, calling an end to the game as Obi-Wan fixed some instant caff, pleased by the heat of the cup in his hands, even if he looked forward little enough to the taste of it.

“Get enough sleep?” Shadow asked, looking him over.

“Mm, yes,” he said, swallowing a mouthful of the scalding caff. He still felt groggy. “You managed to stay entertained while I slept?”

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Shadow said, teasing, “if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“I trust you,” Obi-Wan said, and was more than a little startled to find it true. He knew he shouldn’t, likely. But he trusted Anakin so much, and it was difficult not to allow those emotions to bleed over, directly onto Shadow.

Shadow smiled at him, slow and wide, nudging him back out of the common room, where the troopers were settling down to enjoy the rest of their downtime. Obi-Wan grabbed a nutribar on the way from the room, and asked, “Keeping busy?”

“Well, you asked me to talk to them,” he said, shrugging, a hand on Obi-Wan’s back.

Obi-Wan had given up trying to shrug out of the touch. Besides, if Shadow had a hand on him, it would make it harder to go for his lightsaber, if he decided to attack them all on principle. “And what do you think?” he asked.

“Well, they’re different from the troopers where I’m from,” he said. He’d led Obi-Wan into his quarters and settled at the table, stretching out his arm with a little frown. He lifted a panel away after a moment, and made a rough little sound.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked, looking to the side. All the machinery looked the same to him, nothing but wires and metal, but his Anakin rarely… allowed anyone else to see the inside of the mechanical arm. He hid it, as much as he possibly could.

“Maintenance,” Shadow said, and felt nothing but truthful in the Force. “It… helps.” He cut a glance at Obi-Wan, looking suddenly younger and almost shy. Waiting to see how he’d take it.

Obi-Wan nodded, leaning against the wall. “Alright,” he said, because how often had he found Anakin tinkering with something or the other in his quarters, or down in the engines of the  _ Resolute _ …. He couldn’t offer such freedom to Shadow. He had not done anything to hurt them, yet, but his red eyes were a constant warning. “How are they different from your troopers?”

Shadow touched something in his arm and it buzzed, distressingly. He seemed unconcerned. “Well, you’re right. They have… people stuff,” he said, brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s strange, ours don’t. The Emperor told me once that ours wouldn’t do anything, they’d just lay there, if not for the control chips in their head. Do you use yours only for emergencies?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Control chips? We don’t use such things.”

Shadow glanced over at him, a sharp smile flitting across his mouth, “Yes, you do.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders prickled. He started, “No, we…” and trailed off, looking at Shadow’s expression. “Why do you say that?”

“Because,” Shadow said, closing his arm with a little snap, leaning back in his chair, looking smug. “I ran a scan or two while you were sleeping, just to see if they were there or not.” He tapped the side of his head. “And they are. Right where they are in my world.”

Obi-Wan felt something cold as ice flow down his back. He stood up, slowly, and said, “Show me.”

Shadow rolled to his feet, agreeable enough when he led Obi-Wan down to the ship’s small medbay and brought up the scans he’d taken of Griller’s mind. Obi-Wan felt a deep sense of dread, nameless and sour, as he looked at them. The Force recoiled, all around him. Shadow watched him, curious, as he brought in the other troopers, scanned them as well, stared at all the results with an increasing sense of horror.

“Take a breath,” Shadow advised, stepping behind him, a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, squeezing softly. “Why’re you so worried?”

“Because no one knew these were here,” Obi-Wan said, glancing back at him, too preoccupied to mention the way he’d leaned almost far enough to press his chest against Obi-Wan’s back. “And in your world, they allow you to control the troopers.”

“Mm.” Shadow hooked his chin over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “But they’re already doing what you want them to do, here. You don’t need the chips.”

“I don’t want to use them,” Obi-Wan said, aghast at the suggestion. “I’d never--to force them to bend to someone else’s will, it would be…” He swallowed, nausea in his throat. Bad enough that the Senate had decided to adopt the use of the clones in the war at all. But at least they had some measure of - of choice in their actions.

The deserters, the ones who disappeared while Obi-Wan looked the other way, proved that.

“Really?” Shadow asked, and seemed to be… listening, to what Obi-Wan was telling him. Genuinely curious. If snagging his attention, getting him to consider the possibility of making a correct choice, required allowing him to drape himself across Obi-Wan shoulders, then, well. Obi-Wan supposed it was a price he could pay. “Are you saying that if they all decided not to fight anymore, to just let you fight all the droids on your own, you’d just let it happen?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan didn’t even have to think about it. 

“You’d be killed,” Shadow said, arm curling around Obi-Wan’s chest, snug, as though the thought of it necessitated him to hold tight.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Oh, I don’t know, I might find some way out of it. And… there are things worse than death, you know.”

Shadow said nothing, his body gone tense and unyielding at Obi-Wan’s back. Another way he was like Anakin, perhaps, who also had never been able to… let go, the way he should. Not for himself. Anakin treated his own life as recklessly as anyone Obi-Wan had ever known. But those he cared for he fretted about without respite.

It was a subject he could push, later, perhaps. He shook his head, frowning over the results of the scans once more and asking, “What do you use the troopers for in your world, anyway? You’ve said there’s no war.”

Shadow shifted, some of the tension going out of his bones as they changed subjects. “They protect the Empire,” he said. “Help us with the Rebellion. Assist the Order in keeping the peace. Bringing order to the galaxy and security to all of the people who faithfully serve the Emperor.”

Obi-Wan shuddered, because there was a rote, terrible quality to the words, the sound of something much heard and much repeated. “And this Emperor controls what they do?” Shadow nodded, and Obi-Wan asked, almost absently, “Who is he, anyway?”

The shock of the answer barely had time to register before Shadow went tense against his back, seized, and started to drop to the floor. Obi-Wan swore, catching at him, panic swelling hot and sudden in his chest, growing only more when an hour passed and Shadow did not awake. 

He was unconscious for almost two before he finally stirred again.

#

Anakin could not clear his mind from what not-Obi-Wan had told him. The revelations ate away at him, terribly, right alongside his concerns regarding his medical condition, whatever it was. They followed him through the day and into the night.

His sleep was plagued with nightmares, such as he had not had in some time, of - of a dark place, lit with red light and of the Jedi Temple after some kind of massacre, the bodies of younglings strewn everywhere, the marching of many men in step with one another, of Obi-Wan, yelling for him--

He woke thrashing, to comforting hands on his shoulders, a soft voice murmuring, “It’s alright, Anakin, it was only a nightmare.”

Not-Obi-Wan. He’d… curled close, his presence warm and soothing, from his hand - currently on Anakin’s chest - to his presence in the Force, reaching out to touch Anakin’s mind. It was so thoroughly disorienting that for a moment Anakin froze.

He’d--when he was so young, he’d had nightmares frequently. And Obi-Wan had done his best to soothe them away, first with meditation and talking about it, and, when he realized how severe they were, with gentle comfort and--

And that had stopped, when Anakin grew older and heard the murmurs of the other padawans, about how he clung too much to Obi-Wan’s robes, about how he acted like a baby. Anakin had tucked away the need inside him, shamed that he felt it so much more than the others, forcing himself to be strong the way they were, turning aside Obi-Wan, when he rushed to help after nightmares, until Obi-Wan stopped trying, and--

And he’d forgotten how good it was, to have someone else there. To have someone murmur, “Sh,” and chase away the terrible images in his thoughts. He let out a shuddering breath, reaching up to grip reflexively at not-Obi-Wan’s wrist. He did not seem put out by how tightly Anakin held on, only murmuring, “Sh, Anakin, it’s over now.”

“I--” Anakin’s voice cracked, horrifically. He jerked his hand away, shame at his reaction burning in his throat, and not-Obi-Wan made a soft, comforting sound, moving his hand to Anakin’s shoulder, tugging. Anakin cleared his throat - or tried to - and rasped, “What are - what are you doing?”

“Helping,” not-Obi-Wan said, voice thick with sleep. “Come here, darling.” He tugged again, and Anakin, confused, half in the nightmare and half horrified by his neediness - but no one he cared about was there to know he was weak - allowed himself to be pulled over.

Not-Obi-Wan tugged him close, so Anakin’s face ended up pressed against his shoulder, his skin warm and soft. Anakin sucked in a sharp breath, skin feeling electrified all over as not-Obi-Wan hummed, curled an arm around him, settling him closer, so that Anakin could just… sink against him, more than half-over him, and he had to be heavy, but not-Obi-Wan only carded his fingers through Anakin’s hair and said nothing in complaint.

“See,” not-Obi-Wan said, after a moment, “that’s better, isn’t it?”

Anakin’s heart raced in his chest. He felt frozen in place. He croaked, “I…”

Not-Obi-Wan made a soft, impatient sound. He said, “Like this,” and shifted, grabbing Anakin’s arm and pulling it over, before resuming his embrace. “Have you no idea how to be comforted?”

Anakin blinked, rapidly, swallowing. He shouldn’t be sprawled as he was, he felt mostly sure about that. But - but not-Obi-Wan had entangled them thoroughly. Anakin could not quite stop himself from gripping at him, pulling him a little closer, exhaling harshly against his skin. It seemed better than admitting that no, no, he had no idea, not even the barest hint of one.

Not-Obi-Wan stroked a hand down his back, up again, and Anakin pressed closer. He pushed his face against not-Obi-Wan’s skin, breathing there, until the last dregs of the nightmare drained away, leaving him feeling heavy and worn out, warm. “Sh,” not-Obi-Wan said, fingers combing through Anakin’s hair, still, “sh, go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

And it felt almost like an act of theft - this closeness wasn’t his, it belonged to the other him - but Anakin took it, anyway. He breathed in, shakily, and between one exhale and the next he was asleep, tangled close with - with Obi-Wan’s double.

#

Obi-Wan got no sleep, not even a few moments to lie down his head from the time Shadow suffered his second attack in as many days until they almost reached Coruscant. The Council demanded he be present for meeting after meeting and, even if they had not required that he restate the information he’d gathered over and over again, he doubted that he would have been able to find any peace at all.

Chancellor Palpatine was Emperor, in another world.

He used the Force, in another world.

That could have meant nothing, Obi-Wan supposed. He’d even tried to convince himself so, briefly, but, thus far, everyone Shadow had met or seen had retained either their connection to the Force or the absence of it.

Obi-Wan had even listed other Force users - both of the Dark and the Light - after Shadow awoke. Each one Shadow had confirmed as sharing the ability. Apparently, Ventress and Dooku were both members of the Rebellion, where he came from. Apparently, Maul had died at Obi-Wan’s hand, when he was sent to put down resistance from the Dathomirians, who resented, for some reasons, having their children all stolen away….

Obi-Wan felt sick, sick with so much knowledge, with seeing how everything could go wrong with just the barest of changes.

All it would take, to bring their world in line with Shadow’s universe, was a few changes to the structure of the Senate. A bit more power given to one man. A bit more focus on control, and--

And the Jedi became -- became everything they’d spent their entire existence trying to destroy.

So, Obi-Wan slept not, listening while it was decided that Master Yoda would travel to Kamino with a delegation, under the pretense of assessing the training models they used with Master Shaak Ti. The presence and purpose of the chips would be ascertained, hopefully soon after Obi-Wan reached Coruscant.

The Council had a more difficult time deciding what - if anything - to do about Palpatine. Those who were Force sensitive were not required to join the Order, by any means. They did not even have to disclose their abilities, had they not the desire; many didn’t.

But even so, like called to like. Those who could touch the Force felt  _ different _ from others. And Palpatine… did not.

He had cloaked his connection to the Force, somehow, if he had it, as he did in Shadow’s world. Obi-Wan could think of few reasons to engage in such subterfuge. Each filled him with more dread than the last.

They had been looking for Dooku’s Master for such a long time. Always two, there were, with the Sith. 

“We have only suspicions,” Master Windu said, as the small hours of the morning crept upon them. He looked weary even as a holo, transmitted from Coruscant. Obi-Wan would be there in a day, at most. It felt like too long. “An investigation will be needed, to determine exactly what we’re dealing with.”

Obi-Wan nodded and wished, more than anything, that he were there, instead of in the dark wastes of empty space. He itched to able to help, to uncover whatever was happening, if anything was happening, if this was not merely some wild bantha chase--

“We will proceed with care,” Windu continued, nodding over at Obi-Wan, “and keep you apprised of what we learn. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Master Kenobi.” And just like that, the last of the long meetings concluded, leaving Obi-Wan standing, stiff, in the comms room, Shadow leaning against the wall beside him.

“Well,” Shadow said, as the last of the holos flickered out, “they’re all stirred up, aren’t they?”

Obi-Wan huffed a sharp laugh, rubbing his face and turning to glance at Shadow. “You may have just given us the answer to a riddle we’ve been trying to solve for years,” he said, trying to hold onto that. It may have been an awful answer, but at least they had a chance of finding the architect behind this war, where before they had nothing. He shook his head. “Thank you.”

Shadow pushed away from the wall, a smile on his mouth that was boyish and pleased. He said, “I’m usually thanked with a kiss,” and tilted his head to the side, inquiring.

Obi-Wan glanced to the side, hurriedly. “Are you?” he asked. “By everyone you meet? That seems--”

“Just by you,” Shadow interrupted, his hand, bold, on Obi-Wan’s jaw. He leaned close, so that their foreheads were nearly touching, and continued, softer and lower, as he gazed across Obi-Wan’s expression. “Sometimes it’s more than a kiss, I suppose.” His eyes narrowed after a moment, before Obi-Wan could even formulate a reply, and he continued, “But you look in little mood for pleasure. What troubles you so? Have you not found… this Sith lord you’ve been looking for?”

“We may have,” Obi-Wan said, too used to false victories in the war to even hope that they had finally found all the answers. “But even if we did… Palpatine, there are so many things he’s done, over the years, that I dismissed, that we accepted. So many people have died, and it was all just...” He waved a hand to the side, feeling, abruptly, the weight of years of exhaustion and grief, of the limits he’d pushed and the lines he’d crossed, because there had been  _ no choice _ .

And each impossible situation, each twisting, gut-wrenching piece of punishment endured, had been, possibly, orchestrated. Each horror over the last four years could have been engineered, put into place to cause so much harm.

It was so much more horrifying to consider than simply accepting that in war, awful things happened.

“Oh,” Shadow said, softly, almost stunned, his eyes wide and it was only then that Obi-Wan felt the touch of his mind through the Force. Anakin did not, as a rule, probe Obi-Wan’s emotions very much. But there was a connection between them, there always had been, and Shadow, it seemed, was bolder to use it. “Oh,” he repeated, curling an arm around Obi-Wan all at once and pulling him closer. He felt strange, muscles tense and hard where they pressed together, the clench of his fingers in the back of Obi-Wan’s tunic tight.

Obi-Wan blinked and asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Shadow said, pressing his cheek against the side of Obi-Wan’s head, holding tighter, just for a moment. “But you’re not.”

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. He shook his head, twisting a bit in an attempt to disentangle himself from Shadow’s hold. “I’m--”

“It’s alright,” Shadow said, releasing him and dropping a kiss, brief, to his forehead. “You will be.”

Obi-Wan watched him. He asked, quietly, “What do you mean?”

Shadow smiled at him, the expression sharp-edged. He said, “Nothing. Come, you’re tired. You should sleep, at least briefly.” 

#

Anakin woke up tangled close to not-Obi-Wan and recalled, within a breath, why he avoided such closeness. He’d curled all around not-Obi-Wan, greedier even in his sleep. Waking to feel rested for the first time in years, potentially, was only a fleeting pleasure, because as his mind stirred he became aware of the state of his body.

He had a heartbeat to hope that perhaps not-Obi-Wan had not woken, but that was dashed to pieces as well. Not-Obi-Wan was, absently, it seemed, stroking fingers back through his hair. Anakin saw no way that he would be unaware of the fact that Anakin was hard, cock pressed as it was against not-Obi-Wan’s hip.

Anakin couldn’t decide if it was a comfort or not, to feel not-Obi-Wan’s similar reaction, currently pushed against Anakin’s thigh. Anakin had sprawled most of the way across him in the night, the blankets all tangled around their legs, leaving Anakin to blink across the bare skin of not-Obi-Wan’s chest.

Not-Obi-Wan’s fingers trailed down his scalp, blunt nails dragged over the back of his neck, and Anakin shivered down his spine, feeling that touch  _ everywhere _ and turning his face against not-Obi-Wan’s skin to muffle the sound he made. He’d-- it had been  _ so long  _ since he’d had the opportunity to slip away for long enough to take care of his body’s hungers. So long since there’d been enough time for a clandestine meeting with some stranger he’d never see again. So long since he’d managed even that much without thinking about Obi-Wan, without looking for someone with copper hair, or blue eyes, or--

He shoved up and away, all at once, because he had the creeping feeling down his spine that if he did not he would be pushing forwards instead, taking even more than he already had. Taking what he wanted, the way everyone apparently did, in this world.

“Anakin?” not-Obi-Wan asked, his voice sleep-rough. Anakin fought not to look at him and lost, found him sitting up more slowly, the blankets pooled at his hips, his skin reddened where Anakin had sprawled across him. He was rubbing feeling back into one arm, his longer hair all shoved to one side, waves of it cresting his collarbone.

Anakin swallowed, hard, and said, “I--excuse me.” He shut the door to the fresher harder than necessary and all but threw himself under the sonic shower, banging a fist against the wall and telling himself he would just… wait until the state of his body improved.

But it was a difficult promise to keep, thinking about Obi-Wan and not-Obi-Wan, thinking about soft, warm skin and clever, strong hands, and the brush of stubble across not-Obi-Wan’s jaw, for he had not shaved yet.

Anakin bit his lip, pressed his forearm to the wall and his face to his forearm, curling his shoulders away from the door as he reached his other hand down. He was not easy with himself - saw no reason to be - and it did not take long, the release of it granted him, at least, a temporary relief.

He washed his hands, afterwards, and avoided looking himself directly in the eye. He’d promised himself, long ago, not to think about Obi-Wan when he sought such mad, blinding pleasure. He’d never been very good at not breaking that promise.

Each failure felt awful, as though he were using Obi-Wan somehow.

He swallowed, shoved back his hair, and emerged to find not-Obi-Wan still in bed, legs folded, back straight, expression calm and clear. Meditating, Anakin thought, looking him over and the sight of him was like a kick in the chest.

Anakin had the mad desire to walk back to the bed, tilt his face up, and disturb his meditation with a kiss. His efforts had done, it seemed, absolutely nothing to put out the hot desire in his blood. He should have known they wouldn’t. They never had before, after all. 

“I could have helped you with that,” not-Obi-Wan said, half-chiding, without opening his eyes, and Anakin shivered, gut tightening as his mind helplessly considered exactly how that might have played out. He could have just - just shoved down his loose breeches, pushed at the fabric over not-Obi-Wan’s hips, so they could move against one another, skin to skin. He’d already had not-Obi-Wan pinned, it wouldn’t have taken much effort to just grind against his perfect skin, until--

Anakin had a problem, again. He jerked his gaze to the side and managed to say, “That’s--no.”

“Don’t say I didn’t offer,” not-Obi-Wan said, lightly. “You enjoyed everything else I did for you last night well enough. Does your Obi-Wan not help you through the nightmares?”

Anakin shook his head, brief, sharp amusement moving through him at the thought of it. He’d certainly never have been able to hide his affections for so long if Obi-Wan helped him through the nightmares in such a way. Anakin had never wanted such help, anyway. Not since he’d been a child.

The nightmares were a weakness. They represented something wrong with him, that was all. He didn’t want them, but, since he couldn’t make them stop...

He hated anyone to know about them, and certainly didn’t want Obi-Wan finding out that, all these years later, he still had not learned to control them. “That’s a shame,” not-Obi-Wan said, shifting on the bed. The sound of it drew Anakin’s attention back, helplessly. He swallowed as not-Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, one leg drawn up, his head tilted to one side. “Well,” he said, expectantly.

“Well what?” Anakin tore his gaze away, made himself move further across the room. The way the sheets draped down off of not-Obi-Wan’s knee made it impossible for Anakin to tell if he were still hard, not that Anakin should have been looking, not that he should have cared, not that it should have been of any interest to him at all.

Not-Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him, “Well, what did you dream?”

Anakin flinched, feeling scalded just by the question. “What?”

Not-Obi-Wan sighed. “My Anakin’s dreams come true, sometimes,” he said, expression shifting as he mentioned his Anakin, something soft and yearning crossing his eyes, “I presumed perhaps yours did, too.”

There was something tight, closing around Anakin’s ribs. He said, feeling distant, half-numb, “The future is always in motion.”

“Of course.” Not-Obi-Wan pushed the blankets away and stood, finally. “Otherwise how would we be able to direct it? It sounded dire, whatever it was. Will you not share the warning with me?”

Anakin swallowed. He never spoke of the nightmares. Not to anyone. But… But if not-Obi-Wan wanted to know, if he were used to listening to the nightmares that plagued his Anakin, if he thought they were important… 

Anakin looked to the side, because if not he would just continue staring at the fading bruises on not-Obi-Wan’s hips, and said, “I dreamed of fire. A dark place and the - the Jedi Temple. Someone had…” he cleared his throat, the horror of it rising in him again. “Had killed all the younglings.” He felt not-Obi-Wan go still. “And you were yelling for me. Calling my name.”

“Me?” not-Obi-Wan asked, tone curious, and Anakin swallowed.

“Or… or my Obi-Wan. I don’t know. I only heard your voice.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand who would try to hurt the younglings. It must have been just a dream. Nothing more than that.” He shuddered.

Not-Obi-Wan scoffed, stepping up to him, still distractingly bare-chested, something about his posture feeling just like an invitation that Anakin had to fight not to take. He said, “You deny too much. What you want. What you need. What the Force tells you. Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

Anakin wasn’t sure of much, not with him standing so closely. It seemed to take half his higher functions offline. He asked, “What?”

“Denying something doesn’t make it go away,” not-Obi-Wan said, quietly, his expression serious and dour. In that moment, Anakin could have been looking directly at his Obi-Wan, hearing his voice. “And problems ignored only multiply. You need to face what you want. And the things the Force tells you.”

Anakin shook his head, trying to shake away the visions of the slaughtered younglings, the same way he’d tried to shake free of the images of his mother, years ago. He said, “No, it’s--it was just a dream. It’s not going to happen.” Not-Obi-Wan only looked up at him, his eyes golden and concerned and--

And Anakin needed to get away from him, before he did something stupid about all the wants he was trying to deny and the things the Force was trying to tell him that he didn’t want to hear. He turned, abruptly, and said, “It was only a nightmare, but thank you for your help,” and walked from the room, needing to put some distance between them, desperately.

In the end, another attack gave him the distance he needed, though not the way he wanted it. He heard not-Obi-Wan call out for him, alarmed, even as he crumbled to the ground.

#

For all of Shadow’s insistence that Obi-Wan needed rest, he ended up keeping Obi-Wan awake half the night. He woke with nightmares, in the midst of Obi-Wan’s own troubling dreams, and moments later Obi-Wan had a partner in his bunk, shoving closer all at once.

It seemed futile to put up any kind of protest. Shadow already had an arm around him, trembling under his skin as he pressed Obi-Wan against the bunk, his breath shaky but getting under control quickly. Obi-Wan had spent so long responding to Anakin’s distress, his mind and reflexes had all been programmed into it through long repetition.

He pulled Shadow closer, murmured sounds that seemed to soothe him, and felt him fall eventually back to sleep, though Obi-Wan laid awake. The physical discomfort of being pinned half-beneath Shadow could be ignored; he’d slept through worse. It was the way Shadow had gone from twisting fear to calm comfort so quickly at his touch that ate away at him.

Anakin had dealt with nightmares in the past. He had not mentioned any for some time. Not since before the start of the war. Obi-Wan absently stroked Shadow’s shoulders and tried to convince himself that the world Shadow had come from was only more nightmarish, that Shadow’s own darkness was more likely to leave him with nightmares…

But they had been fighting an increasingly hopeless war for years.

And Obi-Wan, more than anyone, knew the emotions Anakin struggled with, though Obi-Wan knew he would always master them, that even considering a failure was--

Well. More possible than he’d thought, he supposed, considering Shadow, curled around him, brow furrowed in concentration even as he slept. Obi-Wan was still awake by the time Shadow began to stir, nose brushing the line of Obi-Wan’s throat as he moved, pressing his thigh between Obi-Wan’s legs, slow and firm.

“I’m still not your Obi-Wan,” he said, attempting to shift to the side, as though he could just ignore Shadow’s weight across him. 

“Mm.” Shadow sounded half-asleep, still. “I know. My Obi-Wan doesn’t wear so many clothes to bed. They just get in the way.” 

Obi-Wan almost asked if his double did not grow cold; Republic ships were always freezing. But if he were sharing a bunk with Shadow, that seemed unlikely to be a problem. He put off heat the same way Anakin did, as though driven by some terrible internal combustion. He opened his mouth to suggest they rise, when Shadow demonstrated  _ what  _ they got in the way of, tugging up the edge of Obi-Wan’s shirt and sliding his hand beneath, palm hot on skin.

Obi-Wan startled and rasped, horrified by the tone of his voice, “We should get up.”

“I believe we already have,” Shadow murmured, and Obi-Wan felt the quirk of his mouth into a grin, pleased with himself. He shifted his thigh, and Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder, pushing.

He had not been prepared for Shadow to move with the shove, twisting over, one leg going off the narrow bed as he pulled Obi-Wan along, and it was almost as when they practiced grapples, except Obi-Wan did not usually end up sprawled across Anakin, blinking down into a smirk. Anakin did not ever hook a finger into the waist of Obi-Wan’s sleeping breeches and tug.

And Obi-Wan was not - not blind. Not without feeling, no matter what Anakin claimed, sometimes, when he was angry. He was no droid, no machine, he’d--

“We’ve done your morning ritual,” Shadow said, softly, hips shifting as though to make very sure that Obi-Wan knew exactly what was pressing against him, “we could do mine, this morning?” His other hand he slid up Obi-Wan’s thigh, grip firm and sure, without any hesitation at all, as though he knew exactly the kind of welcome he was going to get.

Obi-Wan shook his head, looking to the side, bracing to rise, and Shadow’s hands tightened on him. “We should--”

“I’d be careful,” Shadow interrupted, hand on Obi-Wan’s thigh suddenly much higher, thumb stroking against the side of Obi-Wan’s cock which was… not nearly as unaffected as he wished. “Since your Anakin hasn’t been taking care of you.”

The reminder of his Anakin and the bold touch both gave Obi-Wan the last push he needed to shove off of the bunk. Shadow did not attempt to drag him back down. “I don’t need taking care of,” he said, turning away, ignoring the beat of his heart in his chest and the ache in his gut.

“Agree to disagree,” Shadow said, casually, sitting up from the sound of it. “But if you’re going to be stubborn about it…. Shall we skip to discussing the nightmare?”

Anakin never willingly discussed his nightmares. Not for as long as Obi-Wan could remember. Even when he’d admitted to having them, he’d been… close-lipped about their content. Curiosity - and a desire to focus on anything but the want singing through him - had him nodding and saying, “Yes, let’s.”

Shadow sighed, rising from the bed and moving to the fresher. He spoke of fire and darkness. Of younglings, wearing strange uniforms, laying dead throughout the Temple. He spoke of Obi-Wan, calling for him, and with each word the cold carved deeper into Obi-Wan’s chest.

“It’s obviously something from  _ your  _ world,” Shadow said, when he finished, leaning against the door to the fresher. “The younglings where I come from don’t dress in such a way. And we keep them under heavy guard, of course.”

Obi-Wan watched him, all the heat drawn out of him by fresh worries. He said, quietly, “You’ve not seen the younglings here.”

Shadow shrugged. “I don’t have to see things to dream them, you know that.” He cocked his head to the side, “Or do you not? Does my double not have the Sight?”

Obi-Wan shook his head and then grimaced. “Not as far as I’m aware. But even if he did - if you do - the future is always changing, a dream--”

“May not come to pass, I know,” he shrugged. “But it might. And your world is in the middle of a war. Would the Separatists attack the Temple?”

Obi-Wan shuddered at the thought. “No, they…” He swallowed, dragging a hand back through his hair. “They are getting desperate,” he said, quietly. “Both sides are. Such an attack would be bold. But…” The Separatists did not hesitate to attack civilian targets. They never had. But to strike so deep into the Core Worlds, would be….

He shook himself, glancing over at Shadow, who was - as ever - watching him. “What do you do, in your world? After these dreams?”

A smile moved across Shadow’s mouth; his gaze dropped. He said, “Well--”

“ _ After  _ that,” Obi-Wan said, hurriedly, and Shadow laughed, a surprisingly warm sound. And discussions of the plans they’d made, the things they had done to shift the future towards or away from the things Shadow saw filled the rest of the morning, stretching into the afternoon, before another attack took Shadow to the ground.

Obi-Wan did not need the medics to tell him they were getting closer together, the attacks. There were hours less time between them, each time they recurred. And they left Shadow unconscious for longer, left him dead to the world and twitching the entire time, as though he were fighting some battle with an unseen enemy.

Obi-Wan had a sinking feeling, looking at the tests and scans the medics ran, that he was fighting the very universe itself, his out-of-place position within it. He wished they could push the engines faster, wished they were on Coruscant already, wished he’d never taken Anakin down into those ruins…

But wishes got him nowhere, so he set them aside, as best he could, and kept his palm over Shadow’s forehead, trying to offer what comfort he could through the long hours.

#

“They’re getting closer together,” Anakin said, after he came back to himself, shaking off the effects of the attack. He felt weak, in the aftermath, his limbs all shaky and nausea burning in the back of his throat. Not-Obi-Wan had brought him water, but he could barely hold the cup.

Not-Obi-Wan nodded; he’d dragged Anakin back onto the cot, apparently. He stood with his arms crossed, expression grim. “And your unconsciousness lasts longer,” he said. “If we don’t find a resolution quickly enough….”

He shrugged, mouth twisting into a frown. Anakin considered the thought of having an attack that simply never ended, and shuddered down his back. “Maybe they’ll stop,” he said, finally.

Not-Obi-Wan snorted. “I’d say that’s unlikely.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It must be a reaction to the fact that you don’t belong here. Your being and this universe, they aren’t compatible.”

Anakin had thought something similar, and felt… strange at the thought. He probed not too deeply at the emotion, finally strong enough to raise the cup and drink. “How much time until we’re at Coruscant?”

“Less than a day,” not-Obi-Wan said, and Anakin blinked at him, surprised. They’d have several other stops on their way, last he heard. He’d expected it to take far long. “I’ve changed our flight plan and increased our speed as much as possible,” not-Obi-Wan added, not looking at Anakin.

“That worried, huh?” Anakin asked, feeling chilled within his skin.

Not-Obi-Wan said, only, “We’ll be there soon,” and stood, hesitating for a moment to look back at Anakin before he moved out into the ship. Anakin stayed where he was, too weak to think about moving yet, his mind busy with thoughts, anyway. 

They ate away at him, relentlessly, until he gave up trying to corral them and rose, pacing restlessly around, looking to be somewhere he could avoid his thoughts and not-Obi-Wan for hours. He ended up down in the hangar, eventually, trying not to think about the fact that not-Obi-Wan was probably meditating. 

He meandered through the empty space, an itch on the back of his neck. Thinking about skin he wasn’t supposed to want to touch, needing  _ some kind of distraction _ , just to tide him over until they reached Coruscant.

He found what he was looking for wedged between a crate of nutricubes and the wall. A small doll had fallen there and been, he supposed, forgotten. It looked well loved. Soft. Dirty. His thoughts stopped, all at once, changing direction on him. 

He crouched there, rubbing a thumb back and forth across the stitching, and wondered how many people could be fit into the hangar.

He wondered how long it would take to unload an entire cargo hold full of people. 

He wondered if there’d be just about enough time to enjoy a meal.

He turned the doll over in his hands, frowning. There were no blaster marks on the inside of the walls. No signs of a struggle. They’d been at, according to not-Obi-Wan, one of the least regulated ports in the area.

He stood, the doll held carefully in hand, and made his way back through the ship.

#

“Is it because of the rules of your Order?” Shadow asked, after Obi-Wan was released from yet another meeting with the Council, clearing up the permissions he needed to land, for they would be reaching Coruscant soon, finally.

“Is what because of the rules of the Order?” he asked, tossing aside the pad he’d been looking at during the meeting, information about past battles that kept eating away at him, a hundred things that had gone wrong. He wondered, now, how many of them had gone wrong by design.

Shadow lifted the pad, moving it aside so he could settle close to Obi-Wan. “Your resistance to your wants.”

Obi-Wan stiffened across his shoulders. He would be relieved when Shadow was gone and people stopped questioning his  _ wants  _ all the time. It made it much more difficult to ignore them, a fact he did not appreciate in any way. He said, “Must we really--”

“I just want to understand,” Shadow interrupted, nudging him. “I’ve explained everything about my world to you.”

That was an untruth, and they both knew it. Shadow was evasive enough when it suited him and claimed not to know the answers to many of Obi-Wan’s questions. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned back.

Obi-Wan sighed. At least, he decided, this was a distraction. “I suppose, yes. The Order does not forbid romantic pairings, just - just attachment. Still. There’s a fine line there and I… I’ve always cared too much, perhaps. There were people I loved, in the past. More than I should have. And I would have… have left the Order for them. But they didn’t…” He could not talk about Satine. Not with Shadow. His tongue refused to form the words. “And Anakin - my Anakin - he never… wanted.” He shrugged. “Not from me.”

Shadow fell silent, for a moment, and Obi-Wan tried to take comfort in it, but it only gave him time to think. “What will you do?” Shadow asked, apropos of nothing that Obi-Wan could discern, as they began their final approach towards Coruscant. They’d be planetside in a matter of hours and then….

And then Obi-Wan could take Shadow under the Temple and bring Anakin back. And then something could be done about Palpatine, if something, indeed, needed to be done. And then Obi-Wan could join the Council meetings to discuss the clones. And then--

There were always further “and thens.” Obi-Wan shook them away for the moment. “What will I do about what?”

“The Chancellor,” Shadow said, watching him with half-lidded eyes. “Palpatine. If he really is this Sith you’ve been looking for.”

All the worries Obi-Wan had attempted to shake off flooded back. He sighed. “I suppose we have to confirm that he is, first. There may be Senate hearings. I’m not sure. Politics were never of interest to me.” No matter how often Satine had claimed he would have excelled in the political arena. He’d had no desire to take such power, nor to wield it.

Shadow wrinkled his nose. “You’re going to have a  _ hearing  _ about it?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, amused by Shadow’s dismayed expression. “We can’t do anything without proof,” he said. “We may find nothing. We may be wrong.”

“You know you’re not,” Shadow said, red eyes bold and clear. “You feel it in the Force, the same way I do.” And Obi-Wan looked away from him, first, shivering. He was still studying the far wall when Shadow said, “Where I come from, we’d just handle it.”

“Oh, and how would you do that?” Obi-Wan asked, looking back to raise an eyebrow. Shadow only smirked, as though he expected that to be answer enough, and Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “Why have you not, then? Your Emperor orders murders and genocides regularly, from what you’ve told me.”

He expected… he wasn’t sure, exactly. A defense, perhaps, of Emperor Palpatine. He was so used to hearing defenses of Chancellor Palpatine, from his Anakin. Shadow though, only shrugged, and said, “I don’t think I’m strong enough, yet.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, heart beating harder in his chest, his thoughts full of sudden, sharp horror. Shadow smirked at him, and Obi-Wan said, picking his words carefully, “You’ve spoken of a Rebellion. You need not fight him alone.”

Shadow snorted, shaking his head. “The Rebellion. No, the Empire has to stand. I’ve seen what happens without it.” He waved a hand, lazily. “War across the galaxy. The Empire brings peace and stability. The Rebels want to destroy that, to plunge us all into anarchy like this.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He sounded… terribly close to the things Anakin said, sometimes, when they discussed the power of the Senate, it’s increasing scope, the power of individual worlds stripped away, one after the other. He said, “Your Empire--”

“Oh, there are problems,” Shadow said, shrugging, cutting Obi-Wan off. “But they’re the problems of current leadership. With the right person on the throne, they wouldn’t exist. There’d be peace. People would be happy.”

Obi-Wan felt cold inside. Terribly chilled. He asked, feeling as though he were prodding at an open wound, “And so you are waiting until you’re strong enough to - to take Palpatine’s place?”

Shadow looked surprised, for just a moment. “Oh, no,” he said, “not me. I don’t want the throne. I lack the temperament for it.” And that was one nightmare, at least, that Obi-Wan didn’t have to imagine. His relief lasted only until Shadow said, “It requires a softer touch.” He stared across, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes, a smile playing at his mouth.

And Obi-Wan went still, all over.

“That’s…” Obi-Wan started and then didn’t know how to continue.  _ Not something he’d want _ echoed through his head and caught behind his teeth, because what did he  _ know _ ? Maybe the other him  _ would  _ want that, maybe he was so twisted--

Shadow rolled to his feet, strolling forward, and Obi-Wan meant to draw away, but he felt frozen in place. “He’s given so much for me,” Shadow said. “He thinks I don’t know, that I don’t see it, but I do. I always have, from the day he killed Jinn before he could put a hand on me. And this is what I’m going to give him. The entire galaxy. His to do whatever he wants with.”

He came a little closer with each word, until Obi-Wan had to step back or be ran into, his back catching against the wall, Shadow following him, a hand braced by the side of his head. Shadow’s other fingers pushed his hair away from his face. He said, close and quiet, “You are not so different from him. And I am not, I think, so different from your Anakin.”

And the denial, the one Obi-Wan had been holding onto, caught in his throat, despite all his efforts to force it out. Shadow murmured, almost against his mouth, “Keep that in mind when he comes back and you wonder what he  _ wants  _ from you.” 

He closed the last of the distance between them, kissing Obi-Wan sudden and fierce, pulling back before Obi-Wan could put a hand on his chest to push him away. He left Obi-Wan’s quarters whistling, leaving Obi-Wan to stare forward, heart beating erratically in his chest.

#

Anakin found not-Obi-Wan sitting, legs folded and head bowed. Anakin sank down across from him, waiting, watching, trying to divine meaning from the curve of his brow, the fan of eyelashes against his cheeks, the bow of his mouth. It was not long before not-Obi-Wan opened his eyes, a furrow between his brows.

Not-Obi-Wan opened his mouth and shut it again, when Anakin reached out and placed the doll on the ground between them. And then he arched an eyebrow. “Have you taken up collecting?” he asked, sounding bemused.

Anakin stared at him. “I found it in the hangar,” he said, softly. “There’s a little girl with the same doll, where I come from. She’s on Ghulluvia.”

“Is she?” not-Obi-Wan asked. “How interesting. Perhaps the version of her from here wandered into the ship and left--”

“What happened to the rebels when you sent me away and went up into the hills?” Anakin cut in, his heart racing in his ribs, something that felt too much like hope to be trusted building inside his chest.

Not-Obi-Wan blinked across at him, giving all evidence of guilelessness, but Anakin  _ knew him _ , knew him better than anyone else in the galaxy. He knew when Obi-Wan was lying, and this version was better at it, but Anakin was learning him, too. “I wiped them out,” he said. “As I told you before, that’s--”

“Why are you lying to me?” Anakin asked, more curious than angry. 

Not-Obi-Wan stood, the doll forgotten. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I did my duty and--”

Anakin grabbed him before he could go far, jerking him to a stop, blurting, “No. No, you left them go, didn’t you? And you - what, brought them here? Onto the ship? You took them to a free port. Force. That boy at the gate, you distracted the troopers, didn’t you?”

Not-Obi-Wan scowled at him. “No, that’s--”

Anakin shook his head, half-laughing as the realization finished rushing through him. “Force, you’re--you’re helping them, the rebels. Aren’t you?” Anakin felt as though he’d been kicked in the ribs and the feeling did not go away when Obi-Wan pulled against his hold, pointedly. And Anakin should have let him go. He should have, but.

But his hand fitted so well against this Obi-Wan’s jaw, his eyes going wide when Anakin leaned down to him and kissed him, firm, feeling Obi-Wan startle against him. Anakin’s mind was full of thoughts, all of a sudden, full of plans and desperate wants, all jumbling together, not making sense at the moment.

The world he’d ended up in was broken and damaged, but it could be put back into order, with the right kind of help. He thought that he and Obi-Wan had always been a great team, the best, nothing they couldn’t do when they worked together. And he thought about having an Obi-Wan who loved him in the same way. He thought about the rebels, about how they could - could help them, and--

Obi-Wan made a sound, thick and surprised, when Anakin slid fingers into his hair, holding him closer, and maybe this had been the work of the Force, maybe his presence in the broken world was meant to be. 

Maybe he could take what he wanted, after all, maybe he was  _ supposed  _ to.

He twisted his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hair, and wondered if he was kissing  _ like he meant it _ this time, pushing him back a step and then another, wondering if he could navigate all the way to their quarters just like this, want beating through him, hotter and hotter and--

And Obi-Wan twisted his face to the side, panting, “What are you doing?”

Anakin stayed close, wishing they were closer, managing to rasp, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Obi-Wan cast him a glance, his eyes glimmering and close, “I’m not sure. First you accused me of being a traitor, and--”

“You’re not a traitor,” Anakin said, frowning in confusion, trying to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to discuss what Obi-Wan had been doing  _ at that moment _ , they could speak of it later. “You’re  _ helping  _ people, even here, in this place, you’re--”

Obi-Wan laughed, sharp and abrupt, his head cocking to the side. He said, slowly, “I think you have misunderstood what’s happened, darling.”

Anakin still held him, impossibly close, closer than he’d ever held his Obi-Wan. There was a flush in this Obi-Wan’s cheeks, but also something almost like cool amusement. Anakin said, “What have I misunderstood? That you helped the rebels? No, I know you--”

“Of course I helped them,” Obi-Wan said, staring at him, intent. “And I was sloppier about it than I should have been, I didn’t think I’d need to be as careful around you as my Anakin--”

“Why do you have to be careful around him?” Anakin asked, feeling still off his footing and so distracted by Obi-Wan’s body. He should… likely release his grip, but he could not bring himself to do so. The other him surely had to assist Obi-Wan, and it was a relief, to know that they were both not the monsters he’d thought they were. “He must help you to--”

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. “The Emperor’s favorite? His right hand and willing servant? Help the Rebellion?” His voice was stained with bitterness. “No. He wouldn’t.”

“Yes, he would,” Anakin said, thinking about all he had learned of what the Emperor - Palpatine - had done. “No, listen to me, there’s no way he wouldn’t help you. He probably wants to help the rebels, too, and just doesn’t--”

Obi-Wan laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. He pushed away from Anakin, turning aside, and said, “He’d likely kill me if he knew the ways I’ve acted against the Emperor over the years, disrupting his power, weakening him…” His mouth twitched, half into a sneer before it subsided, and ice curled fingers around Anakin’s heart, squeezing.

“No.” There was no chance that could be true. The very idea of it was revolting. Obi-Wan was the only person Anakin had left; the only person he’d  _ ever  _ had, Anakin had come to realize. Obi-Wan would have never left him, not the way everyone else did, not the way even Ahsoka had. “No, that’s not--listen to me, there’s no version of me that could kill you.” Obi-Wan made a sound, and Anakin pushed him back, enough to look into his face. “It’s true. You’re--I’d never be able to hurt you. I wouldn’t be  _ me  _ anymore.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth crooked up in the corner. He said, “But he is not you.” He reached out, brushing Anakin’s hair back, and said, “And if he knew what I’ve done, the plans I’ve made, he would strike me down where I stood to save the Emperor.”

Anakin stared at him, feeling a terrible chill down his back. “To save the Emperor from what?” he asked, feeling as though he already knew the answer.

Obi-Wan smiled at him, that familiar, warm smile, the one that Anakin had always loved basking in. “From me,” he said. “Do not tell yourself gentle lies about me, darling. I am not your Obi-Wan. I have not helped the rebels for whatever romantic notion you ascribe to me.”

They were still so close, locked into an embrace that Anakin had wanted so fiercely, only moments before. He asked, quietly, “Then why?”

Obi-Wan met his gaze, even and steadfast, his smile fallen away when he said, “I’ve helped them because I hate the Emperor. I loathe him, for what he’s done to my Anakin and for what he’s done to me. I decided long ago I would make him pay for all of it. If that requires helping the Rebellion, so be it.”

He pushed up onto his toes, then, brushing his mouth against Anakin’s the kiss searing, though Anakin felt too frozen to return it. He felt frozen, still, when Obi-Wan pulled away and turned, heading towards the cockpit as he said, “We will be arriving at Coruscant shortly. Prepare yourself.”


	3. Chapter 3

Anakin no longer knew how he felt about their rapid approach to Coruscant. His mouth tingled still with the feeling of kissing Obi-Wan and the temptation remained to follow and kiss him again. He yearned to have just one more kiss; he should have been kissing Obi-Wan every moment since he arrived. He should have taken Obi-Wan to bed the first night and every night after, at least then he would have known what it was like, and perhaps they still had time….

He knew he should not desire it so fiercely, not with all Obi-Wan had told him.

Obi-Wan said he’d helped the rebels only to destroy Palpatine, but Anakin wasn’t sure he believed - or perhaps did not  _ want  _ to believe - that to be his sole motivation.How did saving a few desperate people on Ghulluvia strike a blow against the Emperor? How did sparing a boy from the trooper’s attentions cause any hardship to anyone?

And even if those actions  _ were  _ motivated by some - some angry desire, weren’t they still an improvement? Maybe this Obi-Wan just needed someone on his side, someone to help him. Anakin could be that person, there had to be some way, some magick that could let him stay--

The proximity alarms informing them that they’d reached Coruscant interrupted the swirling maelstrom of Anakin’s thoughts. He blinked, shaking his head and moving forward to join Obi-Wan in the cockpit. He arrived in time to hear the end of the message broadcast through the comms. Apparently, the Council was requesting an immediate explanation for their presence.

Anakin’s mouth tingled as he stood in the door. He said, carefully, as the transmission ended, “Obi-Wan--”

“You must speak to no one when we arrive,” Obi-Wan interrupted, expression set and focused as he directed them through the atmosphere. “If someone realizes how wrong you are before I can get you to the lower levels, they’ll attempt to stop us.”

“Why would they attempt to stop us?” Anakin demanded, desperate to slow things down, all at once. Arriving on Coruscant felt like an end to something he hadn’t even realized he craved, until it was threatening to be taken away.

Once - if - he went back, there would be no one to hold him when the nightmares returned. No one he could  _ want _ . And this Obi-Wan could use his help, there had to be a way, somehow, for him to stay, for them to deal with the fits, for--

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, sounding somewhere between fond and exasperated. “You’ve come from another place, another world. This galaxy has nearly been conquered utterly. What do you think conquerors do, when they run out of new territory to claim?”

Anakin stared at him, sudden ice running through his veins, enough to take his mind, temporarily, off of the kiss, off of all the things he wanted, the things he was running out of time to have. He said, softly, “You think they’d try to find a way through?”

“I know they would,” Obi-Wan said, shrugging. “And I think they’d try to keep you here, until they succeeded. Or until you died.”

Anakin considered that, shuddering. He thought of the scars on Obi-Wan’s skin. The brand on the back of his neck. He said, all the hot wants that had flared within him guttering out, leaving him feeling cold and despairing, “And you don’t want to keep me here? You’d rather have back the version of me who would try to kill you?”

He’d imagined, like a fool, a universe where he could be happy, could have everything he ever wanted. It had felt possible, for roughly a click. It seemed exceptionally cruel that he be offered something so sweet, only to have it snatched away utterly, moments later.

Obi-Wan sighed, turning to look at him, attention momentarily off of the controls. He said, “He’s still my Anakin, no matter what. Do you not want to go back to your Obi-Wan?”

Anakin swallowed, making himself consider. The idea, now that he’d had time to slow his thoughts, of turning aside from his Obi-Wan, never seeing him again, leaving him to deal with a version of Anakin that lived and breathed the darkness, was horrifying. If he found a way to stay in this place, it would mean no longer being there to watch Obi-Wan’s back on the battlefield. No longer being there to save him, no longer being there to… to care for him.

Anakin was not sure anyone else did, and perhaps he had never done a sufficient job. Perhaps if this place had shown him nothing else, it had shown him that.

But going back also meant losing his chance to - to be with an Obi-Wan who loved him, and it was so desperately unfair that the version of him that was dark got to have the comfort and closeness  _ Anakin  _ wanted. He said, his heart aching and sore, “Going back for me... It won’t be the same. I won’t…” he trailed off, helpless to find a way to express all the ways it would be different. 

He reached out, brushing back Obi-Wan’s hair, knowing he had to be wearing yearning all over his expression.

Obi-Wan gazed back at him as Anakin stroked a thumb across his cheek, remembering the softness of his mouth, the feel of his body held close, aching for it. Obi-Wan said, softly, “The universe doesn’t give gifts, Anakin.”

The words stung, for all that he knew them to be true. He almost jerked away, but Obi-Wan had stretched up an arm as he spoke, curling his fingers into the front of Anakin’s robes and pulling him down. And maybe the universe didn’t give gifts, but it felt like one when Obi-Wan kissed him, deep and thorough, pulling back to rasp, “You must take what you want. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Anakin stared at him, so full of wants he could barely think, and Obi-Wan pushed him back a step, turning back to the controls, plunging them into the heart of the Coruscanti traffic. Anakin sank, stunned, into the chair beside him, listening to him swear under his breath as they came in to land at the Temple, which looked… strange and angular. Brightly colored. Anakin dragged his gaze away from it, looking back at Obi-Wan.

He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s the Emperor’s shuttle,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to a… yacht, really, but one heavily armed. It was docked at the Temple. There were a number of guards, all in red, standing around it. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“Can’t we just avoid him?” Anakin asked, finding he little wanted to see Palpatine in such a twisted, unnatural condition. Obi-Wan snorted, cutting him a sideways look.

“He’s already requested to see you,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing at the screens, where - sure enough - there was a new message scrolling across. Obi-Wan’s expression twisted sudden and fierce. “We’ll have to keep the meeting as brief as possible. Feign impatience to take me to bed,” he advised, as their ship settled on the docking moors. “He usually indulges you, in that regard.”

He stood, taking a bracing breath, and looked down at Anakin, who gaped back at him and managed to ask, “What?”

“You seemed ready enough not long ago,” Obi-Wan said, intentionally disordering his robes, pulling Anakin to his feet and mussing his hair.

“But,” everything seemed to be happening all at once, “can’t you we just see what he wants, he’ll probably just--”

“He’s going to know something’s wrong with you if he spends more than a click with you,” Obi-Wan cut in, suddenly in his space, eyes blazing. “And believe me: you don’t want him to know something is wrong with you.”

Something about the intensity of his gaze froze Anakin’s tongue. He nodded. “Act like you mean it,” Obi-Wan said, grabbed both sides of his face, and pulled him down. Obi-Wan kissed him roughly as someone chimed for access to their ship. 

Anakin pulled back, just a bit, asking, “Should we--”

“Like you  _ mean it _ ,” Obi-Wan hissed against his mouth, hand sliding down between them, and Anakin’s mind went temporarily off-line. He groaned, thinking about what he’d always wanted to do  _ like he meant it _ and pushing forward one step, then another, until he had Obi-Wan against the wall, pinned there, and he had the fleeting thought of asking if that was sufficient, but it seemed far more important to push the moment as far as he could take it. 

He did not glance over when the door opened, or when booted feet ascended the entry ramp, only followed the tug Obi-Wan gave to his hair, turning his attentions to Obi-Wan’s throat, listening to Obi-Wan rasp, “Get out, can’t you see we’re busy?”

“The Emperor--” a voice started, and it was terrible, to hear the same tones Anakin knew so well from Rex, but twisted flat, flatter even than a droid. 

“Tell him I’ll be to see him later,” Anakin snapped, not having to work to make his voice low and hoarse.

“I see you’re busy,” a familiar voice said, alarm ringing sharp through Anakin’s head, smothering even the desire burning through him, but--but that wouldn’t happen to the other Anakin, he supposed. He held onto that, feeling Obi-Wan grip at him, and shoved down the horror of being seen in such a position.

“My hands are full,” he said, hoping he matched the tone of his double, hoping--

Palpatine laughed, a low, filthy sound. He said, “Indeed they are. Very well. Finish your business, then.” And Anakin had only enough time to feel some sense of relief, hot and surging through his chest, before the pain began blossoming in the back of his head.

He tried to fight it, to hold off the darkness, but it ever came on quickly and he felt the world tilting sideways, felt Obi-Wan reaching for him, and heard the sharp, curious exclamation from Palpatine, far too close.

#

Obi-Wan watched Coruscant snap into view from the bridge, the exhaustion of the previous sleepless night dragging down at his thoughts. Shadow whistled from behind his shoulder, looking out across it. Obi-Wan glanced back at him. “Not what you expected?” he asked.

“It does look a bit different where I’m from,” Shadow said, frowning across the tangle of traffic and all of the great buildings rising up around them. They made their way to the Temple, and Shadow gazed around, looking openly curious as they ascended the great stairs to the entry. 

“It feels different, too,” he said, as they reached the doors, drawing to a stop.

Obi-Wan stopped beside him, a few younglings racing by, almost knocking into him. He had a feeling he knew the answer even before he asked, “How does it feel different?” He could see the Force - so strong around the Temple - bending and warping around Shadow, impacted by the darkness of his presence.

Shadow cocked his head to the side, eyes falling half-closed as he took a deep breath. “It’s… warm, here.” He stretched a hand out, as though he could touch the living Force moving around them. “It’s so… alive.” He opened his eyes, glancing towards Obi-Wan. “It feels like you do. But… everywhere.”

Obi-Wan decided not to touch the comment about how  _ he  _ felt. Shadow had probably had little experience with the Light side. Obi-Wan might have been the first person he met who had any connection to that aspect of the Force. He said only, “What do you think of it?”

Shadow took a deep breath, mouth crooking a bit. “It’s nice,” he said, “but I suppose we can’t enjoy it.”

“Not quite yet,” Obi-Wan said, and, perhaps, Shadow would get no chance to enjoy it at all. Obi-Wan was fully prepared to head down to the catacombs beneath the Temple immediately. He wanted his Anakin back and safe, free from whatever nightmares he might be experiencing in the other world. 

He would have rushed Shadow directly inside the Temple and down through the lower levels, had not the Council summoned him. As it was, they had to walk to the Council chamber and he had to stand there while the other Masters looked over Shadow, asking dozens of questions that Obi-Wan had already asked, and getting less satisfying answers, for Shadow - much like Anakin - was visibly impatient with them.

Obi-Wan had no idea how long the questioning might have gone on. Perhaps indefinitely, if Shadow had not paused in the midst of answering a question and gone to his knees, his sudden pain lashing out at Obi-Wan’s mind.

Obi-Wan caught him on the way down, or he would have collapsed entirely, familiar spasms jerking his arms and legs around. Obi-Wan swore, softly, lowering him to the ground, pressing a palm to his skin; he felt as cold as ice and rigid, still jerking as Master Unduli knelt by his legs, stretching her hands out, demanding, “This is the reaction you’ve reported?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, keeping Shadow’s head on his lap, feeling the aching echoes of his agony. “It’s getting worse.” He swallowed, looking up to find Master Yoda standing at his side, a frown on his face. “Much worse. He’ll need to rest, after this.”

Master Yoda nodded, glancing at Master Unduli to ask, “Sense, what do you?”

She shook her head, looking up with a furrow in her brow. “I’ve never felt anything like it, Master Yoda. He is in agony, clearly. But…” She drew her hands back, folding them in her lap. “Master Kenobi’s belief that it is a side-effect of his… incorrect fit with this universe is as good a guess as I could formulate, without far more study.”

Obi-Wan gripped Shadow’s shoulder. “We don’t have time for far more study,” he said. “If we can’t get him back where he belongs quickly…” He trailed off, despairing to think of Anakin going through the same in a world where no one seemed likely to care for him. Obi-Wan could only hope that he would be able to make it down into the catacombs. If not… Obi-Wan would have to go through after him, bring him back, somehow.

“We are agreed about that,” Master Windu said, stepping over and kneeling as well, even as healers made their way into the room. Obi-Wan watched them load Shadow onto a small transport with careful hands.“We have crews prepared to search the lower passages, despite the resistance of the Senate.”

Obi-Wan looked over, his suggestion that he should accompany Shadow falling away as sharp alarm sung through him. “What?” he asked, seeing his own concern mirrored on Mace’s expression. “What type of resistance?”

“There are concerns about why we would wish to explore levels below the Temple,” Mace said, shaking his head. “And a rumor that we are seeking to expand and establish a military bunker here, on Coruscant. The Senate is demanding full access to our work below ground.”

“Grant it,” Obi-Wan said, frowning, “we’re certainly  _ not  _ planning to create a military base out of the Temple.” He swallowed, thinking of Shadow’s nightmare, about the younglings, slaughtered in the Temple. It left him with a hard ache in his gut.

“We have,” Luminara said, shaking her head. “They are selecting representatives. They tell us it may take some time.”

Obi-Wan felt an ache starting in the back of his skull. He rubbed his forehead and said, “Time we don’t have.”

“Time we don’t have,” Luminara agreed, reaching out to grip his upper arm. “But we will find a way, before it is too late. However, you believe it will take… the alternate some time to recover?” Obi-Wan nodded. It had taken Shadow hours to regain his senses, last time. He could only imagine the time-frame would be increased. “Then you have some time to discuss the latest movements of the Separatist fleets.”

And Obi-Wan wanted to protest; he should keep an eye on Shadow, he knew that. But the war was his responsibility, as well. He felt it hanging ever around his neck. He nodded, managing a weak smile. “Of course,” he said, and strode forward to take his seat.

#

Anakin woke with the taste of vomit in his mouth and an aching head. He had vague memories of landing at the Temple; but it hadn’t been the Temple. It had been some… nightmare version, all sharp edges and dark colors, reds and golds and blacks. Beautiful, yes, so much more eye-catching than the Temple that Anakin knew, but…

But soured and rotted inside. 

And something had gone wrong, he considered, blinking his eyes slowly open. They’d landed and… Palpatine had been there. They’d tried to buy time. He’d had Obi-Wan against the wall - he’d been half-sure he was going to  _ have  _ Obi-Wan against the wall - and --

“Ah,” Palpatine said, his voice a low purr. “You’re awake.” Anakin blinked, horror trickling down through his back as he rolled his head to the side. He was… in a room very much like the Chancellor’s chambers, only far finer, all in golds and dark reds, everything covered in drapes of velvet. There was no desk in this room. Instead, a throne stood at one end.

Palpatine was rising from it, as Anakin watched. He looked… very much like himself, only wearing a dark robe that shimmered as he moved. There was a crown about his head, the metal dark and grim. 

Anakin sat up, ignoring the light-headed nausea that swam through him. He was on some kind of medical bed; he gripped at the sheet that slid down his body when he realized his shirt was gone.  _ All  _ his clothing was gone, he found, his skin crawling, as he demanded, “Where are my clothes? And where’s Obi-Wan?”

Palpatine waved a hand. “We did some assessments while you were sleeping. To ensure you were well, of course,” he said, moving closer still, and Anakin slid off the other side of the bed, the sheets gripped around his waist. He had no lightsaber. No weapons at all. No one else was in the room. “The results were quite… interesting.”

“I’m sure,” Anakin said, looking around once more. There were large windows along one wall, but they were probably reinforced. He reached out for Obi-Wan, finally clearing his mind enough to do so, and recoiled at once, stung by a wash of pain. “What’s going on?” he demanded, edging towards the door.

“I was rather hoping you’d be able to tell me that,” Palpatine said, watching him with sharp eyes. “You don’t have the Brand. And you feel so…” He wrinkled his nose. “Odd. Untouched.” He cocked his head to the side. “Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. How did you do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anakin said, the lie springing to his lips without consideration, really. Something about Palpatine set off every warning instinct built into his body through the years of war. He expected an attack, he realized, looking around the room again.

Palpatine sighed and drew a comm from his robes, pushing a few buttons on it without speaking. Anakin jerked when the doors opened, considering racing through, finding out what they’d done with Obi-Wan, and--

And a half-dozen guards entered the room, two of them dragging Obi-Wan, stripped to the waist and battered. They dropped him to the floor as the doors shut beside them, and he sprawled, catching himself with one hand, raising his head to look at Anakin. A bruise blossomed across his jaw and one of his eyes had been darkened. They’d put a gag in his mouth.

“Now,” Palpatine said, jerking Anakin’s attention back. “Long have I sought the passage to other worlds. You, it would seem, have discovered it. Tell me how you’ve done it.”

Anakin shook his head, barking a laugh. Denial seemed pointless. Palpatine  _ knew _ , just as Obi-Wan had warned Anakin that he would. But maybe there was some chance that reason would work. Maybe there was some chance the Emperor was more like the Chancellor than Obi-Wan believed. Anakin said, “It wouldn’t matter if I did. You couldn’t stay there. That’s what--” he waved a hand towards his head “--is all about. So, whatever you’re thinking you can do, whatever you want from me, it’s--”

“There are ways around your condition,” Palpatine interrupted, voice a purr. Anakin froze, looking at him. “I have long known of a technique. One I learned from my old Master, before his… unfortunate demise.”

Anakin started at him, heart racing, a dozen thoughts sparking through him like lightning. “No,” he said, “there’s no way.”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Palpatine said, smiling at him, “there is always a way, you just have to know what it is. I assumed you would not want to stay here, but perhaps you do.” His grin spread wider as he looked over towards Obi-Wan, who was glaring at him openly. “Perhaps there’s something here you want, hm? Something you don’t have where you’re from?”

Anakin clenched his jaw shut, thinking of staying, or how fiercely he’d wanted that. Hearing it offered by someone who felt the way Palpatine did made the entire thing feel horrifying, and yet, there was still a piece of him that - that wanted it. 

“You can have him,” Palpatine said, circling Anakin slowly. “I’ll gift him to you, a reward for your assistance. And I can teach you, share with you abilities in the Force beyond your wildest dreams. Only show me how you’ve come here. That’s a fair trade, is it not?”

He sounded infinitely reasonable. Calm. Friendly. The way Palpatine always sounded when he spoke with Anakin. But the memory of all the atrocities committed in his name, the memory of the brand on Obi-Wan’s skin, the scars across his back, stuck in Anakin’s mind like knives. He shook his head, swallowing bile, and looked at the guards once more. They were armed. So was Palpatine, most likely. That didn’t stop him from saying, “No. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Palpatine made a little disappointed sound and stretched out a hand. Anakin braced for the pain; he’d been electrocuted more than once or twice. It didn’t hit  _ him _ . Across the floor, Obi-Wan’s body jerked, and Anakin remembered the scars across his back, even as he screamed, the sound muffled by the gag.

“Stop,” Anakin snapped, taking a step forward, weaponless and naked save for the sheet clenched in one hand.

The lightning dissipated after a moment, leaving Obi-Wan slumped across the floor, twitching, faintly. He smelled of smoke and burnt flesh. Palpatine turned his golden eyes to Anakin, smiling, friendly. He said, “I knew you’d see it my way. The other you always does. Now, dear boy. However did you get here?”

“I…” Anakin glanced away from him, down at Obi-Wan, still and limp. He could share the information. Stay, perhaps, though he suspected that anyone willing to turn to torture so readily would not tell him the truth. And he’d read plenty regarding deals and agreements the Emperor had dismissed after he’d secured what he wanted.

Letting him through would mean exposing  _ Anakin’s  _ Obi-Wan to this. After already exposing him to whatever deprivations Anakin’s double had heaped upon him. Anakin had told himself, over and over, that his double would never cause Obi-Wan harm, would not be able to--

But he had no such conviction regarding Palpatine.

“My patience is not infinite,” Palpatine said, taking a step towards him. “Do you require another demonstration?”

Electricity crackled in the air, and Anakin wondered, fleetingly, how many times this scene had played out. How many times the other version of him resisted some order or questioned a decision. How many times Obi-Wan was dragged in and - and used as some kind of leash, his well-being held against the safety of others or Anakin’s own soul and--

And Anakin knew, without even considering, that his double must have chosen Obi-Wan’s safety every time.

He must have, because Obi-Wan lived, still.

Palpatine reached out a hand, and Anakin wondered, vaguely, why his double had never considered the obvious third option. Maybe he hadn’t had sufficient reason to consider taking the step: a second Obi-Wan, equally at risk, pulling on all the emotions in his chest.

Maybe this Obi-Wan was correct, and Anakin’s double really was unwilling to strike down the Emperor, maybe his double really  _ would  _ trade Obi-Wan’s life away, but--

But Anakin could not bring himself to believe it. He breathed out, battlefield calm filling him up inside, making the world seem sharp-edged and bright. He threw the sheet at Palpatine - the only item he had at hand - and heard the Emperor make an indignant, offended sound.

Anakin had already dragged one of the guards bodily over by the time the sheet hit, holding the man across his chest as a shield, feeling his body jerk as the other guard poured blaster fire into him without hesitation for killing a  _ brother _ , and later that would make Anakin ache with sick hurt, but in that moment he was not a being of emotion or consideration.

He stripped the dead guard of his weapon and then threw the body back at the other guards, knocking two over. The last he put down with a blaster bolt, turning back to Palpatine, everything happening in seconds and--

And seconds was just a bit longer than it should have taken, for everything to go well. Palpatine sneered at him, expression twisted into an ugly mask as he ignited a lightsaber, bloody red and terrible. Anakin had only a blaster and he swore, stepping backwards as Palpatine approached, but he could not go  _ far _ . Not with Obi-Wan on the floor, still recovering from the lightning.

Palpatine moved fast, for such an old man. Anakin pelted him with whatever objects around the room he could pull free, but Palpatine cut through them, approaching with hatred in his eyes, lightsaber swinging too close, and Anakin reached out to him with the Force, wrenching it desperately away, for it was that or have a limb sliced off.

It was shocking, deeply, when the lightsaber jerked free of Palpatine’s grip. Anakin had a moment to register the heft of the saber in his hand, and then Palpatine hissed at him - like some kind of animal - and Anakin smelled ozone on the air.

He brought the saber up in a guard as the lightning poured down on him, gritting his teeth at the intensity of it, barely hearing Palpatine over the crackling noise. “This is your final chance, boy,” Palpatine sneered, lifting his other hand as well, the electric blue of the lightning washing all color out of the room, near-blinding. “Tell me what I want to know, and I may yet let you live.”

Stray strands of lightning jolted away from the saber, looking for other places to ground out. They found their ways to the floor, the walls, and Anakin’s skin. He gritted his teeth, pain lancing through him, more and more as he shook his head. He could feel the hilt of the saber in his hand growing warmer--hotter. 

How long could the crystals within last, how long could  _ he  _ last, how long--

The lightning stopped, all at once, leaving the room shockingly dark and quiet. Anakin blinked, panting, swaying on his feet. Across from him, Palpatine made a clicking sound and fell over, frame simply crumpling to the floor.

“Ha,” Obi-Wan gasped out, dragging Anakin’s attention over. Obi-Wan was still on the floor, pushed up on one trembling arm, gag hanging around his neck, a blaster in his hand, still smoking. He dropped it, as Anakin watched, his eyes rolling back as he slumped down.

Anakin stood in the room of dead men and Obi-Wan, pain aching through every inch of him, and wondered, vaguely, what he was supposed to do next. There were alarms going off, everywhere. He could hear them, ringing out through the complex. He panted for breath, holding the saber, looking at Palpatine’s crumbled form and considering….

But the man was unconscious, perhaps dead. The thought of killing him sang in Anakin’s blood, tempting. 

He shook the thoughts away; he couldn’t kill an unarmed, unconscious man. He couldn’t, it would be-- wrong. Dark. He felt terribly aware of how easy it would be, even as he turned aside, finding his clothes neatly folded by the medical bed and dragging on at least his breeches before he knelt by Obi-Wan.

He stirred not, when Anakin lifted him, his head lolling against Anakin’s shoulder, his body all dead weight though he yet breathed. “Okay,” Anakin panted, listening to the alarms, wondering how much time they had, “Let’s go.”

#

Obi-Wan thought the meeting with the Council would never end. There was always one more thing going wrong, one more fire to put out, but finally, they had no choice but to bring the proceedings to a close. He rubbed the back of his neck, exhausted and frustrated as he made his way towards the healing wing.

No doubt Shadow was long since awake. Obi-Wan wondered, vaguely, that Shadow had not come to find him. He hoped Shadow had not gotten into trouble, turning the corner to the healing rooms and looking around, expecting to be bombarded immediately with impatient complaints.

The rooms were quiet and peaceful. Obi-Wan frowned, moving to get the attention of a nearby attendant, who was happy to tell him that Anakin had left some time ago. He had, apparently, claimed he had urgent business with the Chancellor.

“What?” Obi-Wan demanded, alarm running like lightning down his spine. He turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder, “And you did not think to  _ tell anyone _ ?” He had no time to wait for an answer. He did not understand why Shadow would go to see the Chancellor. He thought of the revelations regarding Palpatine’s abilities in the Force, his heart beating at his ribs. 

He hesitated a step outside the healer’s chambers, considering his options. He could return to the Council chambers, but informing them would only draw more people into the uneasy feeling racing through him. He turned, instead, for the front of the Temple. He would go himself, determine what was going on and--

And Shadow was ascending the steps as Obi-Wan pushed through the gigantic doors, out into the late evening air. Obi-Wan jerked to a stop, some of the emotion in his chest easing all at once, allowing him to draw a breath. 

“Perfect timing,” Shadow called, smiling up at him and leaping the rest of the way, landing in Obi-Wan’s space. 

“You went to see the Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, looking him up and down, half-sure that he would find… some kind of injury. He’d been worried about Palpatine since Shadow spoke of his role as Emperor, the concern eating away at him.

“He was out, unfortunately,” Shadow said, with a little shrug. “So I couldn’t bring you the present I wanted. I had to get something else, instead,” he added, reaching into his cloak with one hand, taking Obi-Wan’s wrist with the other, turning his hand palm up and placing--

A datachip down against his skin.

Obi-Wan blinked, turning it over as he asked “What’s this?”

“Information,” Shadow said, with a smile. “Reports of meetings with Separatist leadership. Data about the clones. I found it in the Chancellor’s suite, while I waited to see if he’d come back. I thought it would interest you. Perhaps spare you the need for a hearing.”

“You…” Obi-Wan stared at him, heart racing in his chest. “You what?”

“I mean to kill him,” Shadow sounded thoroughly unconcerned. Relaxed. Pleased. “He’s not as strong as the Emperor in my world, I don’t think. I thought it would be a good test, but…” He shrugged.

Obi-Wan felt half-certain he was dreaming. He supposed he should be relieved that Shadow had not  _ murdered the Chancellor _ . He would be leaving soon, the responsibility for such an attack would have fallen at Anakin’s feet when he came back, and--

Obi-Wan shook his head, taking Shadow’s arm and leading him into the Temple proper, where they would, perhaps, not be so easily seen. He came to a stop in a hallway, asking “What did you do?”

“I searched his files,” Shadow said, smirking at him. “It’s all there, everything he’s done, I suppose. Do you know he’s attempted to kill you several times? The information is all there.”

Obi-Wan felt like a broken holo, but nothing in the entire galaxy was making sense at that moment. None of these revelations seemed possible. He considered that he could be having a stroke and repeated, hollowly, trying to carve some kind of understanding out of the madness, “What?”

“Mm, you can review it, if you don’t believe me.” He shook his head and put a hand on Obi-Wan’s neck, smiling at him gently. “I didn’t hoped to ease your mind, to relieve you of this burden. Have I not?”

“You have,” the words still didn’t seem quite real. The world felt like it had tilted, alarmingly, to the side. The datachip could be the proof they needed, it could tell them so much-- “But,” Obi-Wan heart would not slow down. He was still holding the chipl. He kept waiting to wake from a dream. “Why would you do any of this? This world - you’re going home - you  _ like _ \--”

“You don’t,” Shadow said, his smile softening into something fond, warm. He shifted a little closer, fingers sliding into Obi-Wan’s hair, tilting his face up. “Now you don’t have to worry about the Sith in your midst. Now you can end the war. And rest. Consider it my gift to you, dear one. Remember me by it, when I am gone.”

Obi-Wan shivered. “I’m not your--”

Shadow made a sharp little sound, rolling his eyes. “You’re Obi-Wan. It doesn’t matter whether you have a beard, or don’t. You  _ feel  _ the same.” He leaned down, nose brushing Obi-Wan’s. “Any version of me would love any version of you.”

Obi-Wan had a lurching moment to realize that Shadow intended to kiss him, this man who had walked into the den of a Sith lord and walked out again with  _ proof  _ to present to Obi-Wan like a gift. It  _ was  _ a gift, he realized, terrible and perhaps even wonderful, everything he had wanted delivered all wrapped in darkness, and it seemed Shadow had done it for  _ him _ . He stared forward, blindly, Shadow’s breath against his mouth, too shaken to turn his face away and--

And maybe, after what he had done, Shadow deserved one kiss where he was not pushed away.

Obi-Wan shivered down his back as Shadow kissed him. He’d expected it to be a fierce show of affection, but Shadow took his time, each movement, each touch pouring heat directly under Obi-Wan’s skin until he gasped, helpless, vaguely aware that Shadow  _ did  _ know just how to kiss him, apparently, knew what Obi-Wan liked better than Obi-Wan did and--

Obi-Wan gripped at his shoulder and his hip, aching inside, sharp and sudden, and perhaps he had always turned aside, pushed Shadow away, out of the fear of experiencing this once and then… 

Losing it again, for Shadow could not stay. He shivered, when Shadow pulled away, his eyes heavy-lidded and his touch so warm, everywhere. And, oh, but Obi-Wan wanted, he wanted-- 

Voices at the end of the hallway jerked him out of his thoughts. He startled, taking a step back as a little cluster of younglings moved past, watched over by a creche master. Obi-Wan nodded as they passed, even managing a smile, despite his too-fast heart rate and the feel of his mouth.

He turned back to Shadow as the group passed, bracing for a renewed offensive, and swearing under his breath when he found Shadow’s eyes rolling back, instead. He reached out to grab Shadow’s arm, gentling him down to the ground, opening his mouth to yell for the healers and stopping.

He took a breath and thought, needing the opportunity to process everything he’d just been told. How long, he wondered, would it take to get Senate approval for their trip under the Temple? If he took the holo to the Council right away, how long would they make him sit through meetings about it before they gave him permission. If they brought charges against Palpatine, how long…

It had only been a few hours since Shadow’s last attack. If this kept up, there would be no time between the events….

Obi-Wan blew out a breath, seeking for guidance through the Force, trying to center himself. Steps had to be taken. Something had to be done. And he knew what it was, regardless of the wishes of the Senate.

He dragged Shadow across his shoulders, grunting as he stood; Anakin had weighed less, last time Obi-Wan had to carry him anywhere, but Obi-Wan had lifted far heavier things. He drew on the Force, stretched out his senses, and moved.

#

“You said we needed to go to the Temple. So that’s where we’re going,” Anakin said, to himself, as he lifted Obi-Wan. He strove to be careful, too aware of Obi-Wan’s injuries, but could do little about it. He was going to need  _ one  _ arm free, most likely, so Obi-Wan had to go over a single shoulder. He stood, and hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone, that everyone would just… decide to ignore the alarms.

If they didn’t, well… He still had Palpatine’s saber.

As it turned out, everyone was paying attention to the alarms. The first guards reached them by the time Anakin turned the corner, and he shoved them back with the Force, barely breaking his stride. The Palace was laid out very similarly to the Senate, with only minor changes, here and there.

Anakin fought where necessary, ran more often, and wondered, every step of the way, if he should have killed Palpatine. It was still eating away at his thoughts by the time he found the hangar bay. 

There were guards gathered there - they must have realized he’d come - and he had to carve his way through, bile burning in his throat. He wondered if any of the guards were troopers he knew, in his world, he wondered if they’d trusted the Anakin from this place, he--

He heard at least one of them getting orders, their radio rolling away as Anakin carved his bloody way through, listening to a terrible and familiar voice order that he be taken alive. Anakin tossed the last of the guards out of the way, breathing hard, and ran into the hanger, hoping that ships were ships everywhere, that he could still fly anything.

He forced his way into a speeder, deposited Obi-Wan to one side, and got it started in clicks, expecting, at any moment, for there to be blaster fire at his back, but it seemed he’d cleared the path effectively. He held his breath, exiting the hangar, moving into Coruscanti traffic - also the same everywhere - and headed to the Temple. 

Anakin flipped through comm channels, absently, his pulse racing inside his skin. There were no warnings blaring for their capture, but that meant nothing. Anakin felt itchy all over. Watched. Obi-Wan was still unconscious by the time Anakin landed. Waiting, however, seemed a very poor idea.

Anakin lifted Obi-Wan, more carefully this time, stepped from the ship, breathed in the air on the steps and almost swayed on his feet. There were so many emotions surging through the Temple. He’d never clearly considered what it would feel like to have thousands of Force users all in one place, none of them practicing restraint.

It was like stepping into a room where everyone was yelling at the top of their voices. Anger and joy and fear and delight and hatred and lust all battered at him, and he’d swayed on his feet. He wondered how any of the Force sensitive people in the Temple stood it, the pressure of it beating at him, so many conflicting wants. He could not comprehend how this place had not torn itself to pieces.

Pity for them, deep and sharp, pity and a desire to  _ fix this _ , to make things right for this Obi-Wan grew within him. But all he could do was carry Obi-Wan up the steps, ignoring the curious glances they got. He was the Emperor’s favorite, in this place. He hoped, vaguely, that meant that no one questioned what he did too closely.

Especially what he did with Obi-Wan, who, from the marks on his skin, must have returned from the Palace after being bathed with Force lightning more than once.

No one stopped him for more than a brief conversation as he entered the Temple proper. He tried not to look too closely at the ones who did - speaking with Master Windu in this place left him with the feeling that they  _ still  _ didn’t much get along - and avoided scanning the crowds, dreading seeing familiar montrals, dreading the thought of Ahsoka, here, twisted and dark. He had never been able to make himself ask after her, happier telling himself that perhaps she had - had gone to join the rebels.

No one vexed him as he headed for the lower levels. No one insisted on taking Obi-Wan to get medical care. Anakin swallowed, tried to be grateful, and kept moving, desperation driving him onward through exhaustion and pain.

There were guards, standing outside the entrance to the lower levels. Only Palpatine and his favorites had been allowed in, Anakin recalled. He wondered, moving forward - afraid that if he stopped he would be unable to lurch into motion again - if he would be considered good enough to go in.

Apparently not, he discovered. The guards stiffened as soon as they saw him, one barking a message about his presence into the radio and--

And then both of them were on the ground, Anakin’s hand outstretched, too much adrenaline surging through him to feel much regret. He stepped over their bodies, cursing when the door would not open. But there was more than one way to gain access to a space denied him. He scowled, reached out with the Force, and tore the entire door from the wall.

A dark hall opened beyond it, cold air rushing out to curl against Anakin’s face. He scowled into it, adjusted his grip on Obi-Wan, and moved forward.

The awful feeling in Anakin’s bones only increased as they moved deeper into the Temple. He’d never explored these passages, not the way Obi-Wan apparently had. But then, he hadn’t grown up at the Temple, hadn’t had years to explore with the other younglings. They’d assigned him to Obi-Wan as padawan immediately.

He could not imagine that the Temple back in his world looked like this, in the deeper levels, though. There were… harsh and ugly carvings on the walls. They looked truly ancient, as though they had been there since Coruscant shaped itself from interstellar dust during the formation of the galaxy.

The entire place felt strange, like moving through a living creature. Anakin had the sense that the tunnels were inhaling and pulling them forward. He could not shake the sensation that they were being watched, as he plunged them onwards.

#

Shadow remained unconscious for hours their descent into the underground levels of the Temple. Obi-Wan paused more than once to lower him to the ground, to check his pulse and try to rouse him, but the shudders would not leave his skin. He looked awful, his color pale and his eyes reddened when Obi-Wan lifted the lids.

Obi-Wan considered taking him back, half sure that he would perish without appropriate care, but… But he no longer believed there was anything they could do to ease the attacks. He never had, truly. And so he bent all his thoughts towards finding a way to send him back, hoping desperately that such a thing even  _ existed. _

Their entire dash across the galaxy could have been for naught. There might be nothing down in the bowels of the Temple. He might end up holding Shadow through the next attack, only for it not to end, he might--

He shoved those thoughts to the side. He had to force aside rubble, here and there as he went, but the path was not nearly in such poor repair as he had assumed. Nor in nearly poor enough repair for the Senate to be so concerned about their work. Anyone  _ could  _ have explored these tunnels, navigating through the gloom, though Obi-Wan remembered well enough hearing that they had become blocked, years ago.

Instead, there were wide stretches that were open, free of debris, and easy to traverse. There was, he noticed, as he went, a certain lack of dust to the ground. The air down in the lower passages did not feel still and unmoving.

Others had been there, moving in the dark places under the Temple. He thought of the datachip still in his robes, the one that proved all their worst suspicions about Palpatine, and shuddered at the thought of a Sith down here, in this place that already felt suffused with Darkness.

Could Palpatine have come to the Temple, he wondered? On the pretense of visiting Anakin, he certainly had. And perhaps he had crept in at other times, moving under their noses, working some Dark arts in the heart of the Jedi Order and--

Such thoughts ate away at Obi-Wan. He barely noticed the way they crept in, until he began  _ hearing  _ them. He froze in the middle of a tunnel far below the Temple, Shadow’s weight stretched across his shoulders as voices whispered in his ears.

_ What’s it doing here why has it come _ they asked, all echoes and whispery tones. There were hands in the darkness as well, plucking at his robes and his skin, though he could sense nothing there. He shook his head, listening to the refrain of  _ what right have you to be here _ as it rebounded off the walls.

He ignored the voices at first, though their whispers and the fingers brushing against him left him feeling unclean. He pushed onwards, hearing them - it - chatter to themselves, asking  _ how dare you be here, unworthy one, how dare _ \--

“I’m not going away,” Obi-Wan said, eventually, his voice startlingly loud after so long in the quiet, for the voices were not really voices. He scowled around in the darkness. “Not until I find what I’m looking for, so if my presence bothers you so much, perhaps you could direct me to a large dark rock? Surrounded by pedestals? Do you know it?”

There was silence for a moment. Peace. For a moment, he considered that perhaps he had heard nothing, that the voices had been only in his mind. They returned before that unpleasant idea could land, louder and hissing, no longer speaking words.

The tugs on his clothing and hair became harsher, became  _ painful _ . Obi-Wan jerked aside from unseen hands, but there was no way to evade them, so he moved forward a step and then another. 

He did not know what the things in the tunnels were, only that they screamed inside his head, like beasts, and clawed at him. They had no forms, but they did damage, somehow. He felt blood running down the side of of his face, injuries left behind with each touch as he charged forward, hoping to outrun them, if nothing else, wishing Shadow would wake, wishing--

In the end, he found the chamber by chance, jerking to the side, still trying to evade the pinching, stinging touches all around him. He had a moment to feel the ground give under his heel, and then there was only the falling and the sound of echoing, horrible laughter.

And things might have gone poorly indeed, as they plunged through the darkness, if Shadow had not awoken during their fall. Obi-Wan - dazed by the pain and stunned by the screaming - barely registered it as Shadow jerked, grabbing at him, securing him with one arm and, somehow, managing to stabilize their wild descent.

The ground still came up too fast and too hard, the only light the madly spinning torch falling beside them. Shadow made a sound, harsh, and then they weren’t moving anymore, gravity slamming them into the ground like a fist.

Pain blossomed out across Obi-Wan’s side, but not nearly as much as he’d expected. Shadow had taken the brunt of the impact, his arm still closed around Obi-Wan’s chest like a durasteel band, unmoving even as they lay there, panting against one another, the light rolling back and forth on it’s side a few feet away.

Obi-Wan asked, when he felt up to it, “Are you alright?”

“Been better,” Shadow rasped back, his breath shaky against the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, “but I’m not dead.”

“Good,” Obi-Wan said, scrubbing at his face and shifting. He could not go far. Shadow gave no sign of even easing his hold. “You have to let me up.”

“In a minute,” Shadow bit out, and Obi-Wan felt too exhausted to argue about it. He lay there, and, after a moment, cautiously curled his arm around Shadow’s. He could feel the tremble in Shadow’s skin, the way he quaked, and tried to ease some of his suffering with the Force, to fortify him as much as possible.

“Ah,” Shadow gasped, pressing his face down against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “ah, that’s--”

“Did I hurt you?” Obi-Wan asked, jerking his hand away, and Shadow shook his head.

“No,” he rasped. “That wasn’t--pain.” He breathed for a moment and then shifted, pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s neck, and pushed up, sitting. He hissed a bit, hurt radiating out of him, and Obi-Wan echoed the noise as he shoved to his feet.

At least the whispering, cruel things above had not followed them down. “Can you stand?” he asked, retrieving the light, ignoring all the places he hurt. Shadow answered by swaying upwards, one of his arms curled still to his chest, a slick of blood down his face. “Oh!” Obi-Wan said, reaching for him without thinking.

Shadow caught his hand without even looking, for his gaze was turned to the side, his expression sharp and considering. Obi-Wan followed the line of his gaze and his breath caught. 

They’d fallen into a circular chamber. Near one wall there were a number of raised pillars. And past them, set against the stone, was a flat, dark surface. Obi-Wan stared at it for a moment, half-believing he’d only hit his head hard enough on the way down to imagine that they’d finally made it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that. He asked, his heart racing, “Is that it?”

Shadow glanced at him, the blood on his face reflecting the light, and nodded. “Yes,” he said, smiling. And not for the first time, Obi-Wan hoped that his Anakin was there with them, in the other place. That he was, standing there in the dark, staring at the same mirror. Obi-Wan hoped against hope that he had made the right decisions as Shadow said, “Come here.”

#

Obi-Wan stirred not until they were well under the Temple. Anakin drew to a stop as he started shifting around, making soft, hurt sounds. Anakin managed to kneel, lowering him down, as his eyes fluttered open. He flinched as he woke, blinking rapidly, gripping at Anakin’s shoulders, and Anakin said, “Sh, sh, it’s fine. It’s all fine, we’re out of there. We’re at the Temple.”

Obi-Wan did not relax his grip, but some of the confusion washed out of his expression. He croaked, “How did…?”

Anakin shook his head, “It’s a long story, and I’m pretty sure there are people after us.” He knew there were people after them, in fact. He could sense the troopers following them, along with other Jedi - or the Jedi from this place, anyway - and a darker, familiar presence as well. Palpatine. “So we can’t rest for long.”

Obi-Wan gazed at him, looking exhausted and injured. He said, rasping, “The Emperor is following us.”

Anakin grimaced, looking to the side and pulling Obi-Wan to his feet. They really could not rest. Anakin had no idea how far behind them their pursuers were, but he thought not far. He’d made the best time he could, bearing Obi-Wan along, but… “Yeah, seems so. I’m sorry.” If he had just… finished the job, perhaps they wouldn’t have such a force after them, perhaps--

“Mm,” Obi-Wan said, the noise bitter and tired. “I didn’t expect otherwise. My Anakin would not kill him, either. I should have aimed better.” Anakin shivered, opened his mouth, and Obi-Wan continued, “You’ve brought us very deep. Good job.” He gripped Anakin’s shoulder, taking a wobbling step forward and then swaying. Anakin grabbed his arm, pulling him closer, and they leaned on one another as Obi-Wan led him through one winding passage after another. 

He did not touch the marks on the walls, though he was aware that they looked familiar. Something about them made him want to curl his fingers back against his palms and pull his hands inside his sleeves. 

“What is this place?” he asked, quietly, trying to urge Obi-Wan to move faster. 

Obi-Wan glanced up at him “The oldest part of the Temple,” he said, his voice pitched quiet as well. “It was built long ago, to draw on the wellspring of the Force located here.”

Anakin swallowed. He felt… cold, as though this place were pulling away the living warmth from his bones. “And these markings, they’re… what do they mean?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “The tongue is lost,” he said. “None who spoke it still live. I’ve tried to translate it based on descriptions, but never with any success.” His tone changed, growing stiffer. “I was never permitted down here, before.”

Anakin nodded, staring at the markings. He did not ask: but is it not a Sith dialect? Was it not written by Darksiders? He knew, already, that Obi-Wan would not understand what he meant. There was no such distinction, not for him.

But Anakin felt only Darkness in this place, more concentrated than anywhere he had ever experienced it. It emanated from the stones, the writing, the very air itself. And his Obi-Wan had said that such writing was likewise beneath their Temple.

Anakin could not help but wonder why there were Sith ruins beneath the Jedi Temple. He was still puzzling it over when the pain started in the back of his head once more, taking him down to the ground, barely hearing Obi-Wan’s worried exclamation.

He woke again, feeling ill and worn thin, staring at Obi-Wan’s back. He could not stop the shaking in his limbs, even as he woke. His fingers did not want to uncurl from his palms. “It’s getting worse,” Obi-Wan said, without breaking his stride - he was  _ running  _ \- and Anakin could only nod. Even that hurt.

“Then we have little time.” Obi-Wan slowed and shifted, bending enough to allow Anakin to regain his feet. Anakin blinked at him, his head swimming, and startled.

There was a blaster wound on Obi-Wan’s arm, the skin darkened and charred. There were scrapes, here and there, across his body. Anakin gripped at him, checking for other injuries, and demanded, “What happened?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “A patrol caught up with us,” he said, wincing when Anakin checked the wound on his arm. “I took care of them, don’t worry.”

Anakin met his eyes in the darkness; they put off a faint light. He said, “Should I worry about all the others behind them?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth crooked up. “Probably,” he said. “But I hope we’re going to get you out of here before  _ they  _ become a problem.” He spoke the words grimly, as though they were some kind of terrible promise, pulling Anakin’s arm across his shoulders and urging him into motion.

Anakin wanted to protest - to not lean on Obi-Wan when he was so obviously hurt - but he had to lean heavily against Obi-Wan’s side to take the first step and the one that came after that. Feeling slowly came back into his limbs and some of the pain in his head leached out.

“You know,” he said, when he felt like he could speak again, as they settled into a speed that didn’t feel fast enough, not at all, “there might not even be another mirror down here.”

Obi-Wan did not waver, continuing onward, dogged. “There is,” he said. “There has to be.” He glanced over, and sped up his pace, hurrying them forward and onward, as blaster shots started echoing behind them.

He pushed Anakin a step forward, moving into a familiar position, blade up in a high guard to deflect the shots back. “Go!” he snapped, each deflected bolt finding a target, sure and true, even in the darkness. Anakin felt people dying, one after another, and shuddered. There were so many more people beyond them, and the Dark presence, drawing ever closer.

“Not without you,” he snapped, and Obi-Wan cast him a scowl over one shoulder.

“If you find--”

“I won’t leave you,” Anakin cut in, gripping one of the troopers and shoving him into a wall hard enough that he didn’t get up again. Obi-Wan’s expression shifted, and he took a step back, saber still up. They ran and fought, all in a confusing, desperate jumble, driven ever onward by the forces at their backs.

There was no time to look around, to do more than glance into the chambers they passed. Anakin hoped, numbly, that he would not have another attack as his legs ached and his chest burned, as Palpatine grew closer and closer, not slowed down by the fighting as they were, coming for them all, and Anakin should have killed him in the Palace, should have--

Anakin almost fell down the first step of a staircase, opening in the darkness. Obi-Wan caught him back, fingers closing around Anakin’s arm, hauling him back to his feet and then, after a moment’s consideration, pushing him forward again. They ran, down the spiraling staircase that descended more steps than Anakin could count; he felt like they had to be plunging their way towards the planet’s core, though it grew no hotter around them. And with each step, he could feel their pursuers, hunting them down.

It was strange, Anakin had always associated the Dark side with anger, hot and furious. But there was no heat down in those halls, none at all. No living warmth to touch his skin. Just the cold, spreading and terrible, making him shiver even as, finally, the steps ran out, depositing them in a large, circular chamber.

It was familiar, and Anakin dragged in a little breath, looking at the black stone against the far wall and the pedestals around it with a sharp ache in his chest. “This is it,” he whispered, the feeling of being outside of his body and inside it at the same time so thick that he could barely breathe around it.

Obi-Wan tightened his grip, looking around, something like yearning on his expression, but only for a moment before he turned back to the stairs, twirling his saber and settling, saying, “Go, do it. I’ll hold them.”

Anakin hesitated. He could feel the people coming after them, so close. Relentless. He said, “I should at least help you--”

“No,” Obi-Wan turned to look at him, shaking his head, breathing raggedly, bloody and battered by all that had happened. “ _ Go _ , go back to where you belong, before it’s too late.”

Anakin swallowed, thinking about what Obi-Wan had said about his double, about his willingness to serve Palpatine blindly. “Palpatine is coming, I should at least help--”

“It’s been too long since your last attack!” Obi-Wan cut in, eyes blazing, taking a step towards him, reaching out to shove at his chest. “You must  _ go _ , now! Please!” He looked up, expression fierce and beautiful, and Anakin stared back for a moment, aching, knowing he would be going back to someone who would not be yearning for him. He found he was many things, but not a thief who would steal from himself. 

He would go back, without any further protests. He would learn to accept what he had: Obi-Wan’s friendship and concern. He ever had before. The memories of how it felt to kiss him and hold him close would fade over time, he was sure. He swallowed, looking at the stone and then back once more. He took a step forward, and Obi-Wan said, “Anakin, I… I’ve never been very good at goodbyes.”

Anakin looked at him, a hundred wants all tangled in his chest. He thought he could have been happy there, fighting with the rebels, showing Obi-Wan what the Light side of the Force was, touching him, loving him, but--

But maybe he’d just have to find a way to be happy where he belonged, instead. “Then don’t,” he said, voice thick and choked. “Don’t say goodbye.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, a smile flitting across his mouth. “Very well. I’ll say only that if there are things you want, Anakin Skywalker, you need to take them.” He glanced up, eyes flashing in the dim light. “The universe doesn’t just give gifts.”

Anakin stood, his heart beating at his ribs, and maybe this place had changed him. He fitted a hand against Obi-Wan’s jaw and leaned down, taking one last kiss, thinking of all the things he wanted and trying to sate them all in that moment, before he tore himself away., walking across the floor to the pedestals, so similar to those he’d seen in the cave. 

He heard troopers running into the room, heard the noise of blaster fire, the sizzle of a lightsaber, life sparks going out, one after another. He thought for a moment, ignoring the battle only with effort, and brushed the one he hoped was correct, watching the stone shift and shimmer in front of him, resolving into his own image, looking… somewhat less worse for the wear than Anakin felt.

He  _ felt  _ Palpatine step into the room, and glanced back, helplessly - Obi-Wan stood between them, saber in hand, strong and steady despite all his injuries - even as he made himself raise a hand to the stone.

#

Shadow hesitated, for a moment, hand over one of the identical pedestals, glancing up at Obi-Wan. He said, softly, “You know, I was tempted to try to find a way to stay here.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, surprise and sudden, sharp worry lancing through him. He did not  _ want  _ Shadow to remain in their world, he wanted back  _ his  _ Anakin. “Everything is bright here,” Shadow continued, staring at him, open and bold, “and you are so  _ light _ that sometimes it hurts to look at you. I feel like you warming all the cold parts of me.”

“That’s--” Obi-Wan started, flushing, and Shadow made a sharp sound.

“I’m not trying to flatter you,” he said. “You are…” He took a breath, eyes darkening, and smiled. “Extraordinarily tempting. But I love my Obi-Wan, for all his shadows. They match mine. And I have a gift to give him, after all. We’ll find our own way, together.”

He touched one of the pillars, before Obi-Wan could think of a reply. The dark stone before the pedestals shifted and wavered, but nothing else happened. It showed no reflection, nothing. Obi-Wan paced back and forth before it, asking, “Perhaps it is broken?”

Shadow shook his head. “Maybe they’re just not there yet,” he said, and stood directly in front of the mirror, scowling, as though he could will it to work properly. Obi-Wan paced, trying to release the hot anxiety in his chest to the Force, wondering how long it would be until Shadow’s next attack, wondering--

Shadow stiffened, eventually, the adjustment in his posture enough to alert Obi-Wan to a change. He looked up, at the stone and saw--

Another Anakin.  _ His  _ Anakin, looking as though he’d been through a fight, not looking directly into the mirror. Obi-Wan took a lurching step forward, sharp yearning cutting down through him, mingled with relief. 

Shadow grabbed him, before Obi-Wan could get too close to the mirror. His hands were over-familiar and knowing, pulling him close. Shadow kissed him fiercely, hungry and proprietary and--

And Obi-Wan made a surprised sound against his mouth, put hands on his shoulders, wide-eyed, and so he saw it, when Shadow’s visage shuddered, like the air on a hot day, for a single, long moment.

When it passed, Anakin’s eyes snapped open, startlingly clear and widening with surprise. Obi-Wan would have known him anywhere, and joy welled up inside him, even as Anakin’s expression shifted into something determined. Obi-Wan started to pull back, and Anakin tightened his grip, instead, holding him in place, taking advantage of Obi-Wan’s surprise to--to kiss him hard and so thorough Obi-Wan felt it in his gut.

When he finally pulled away, Obi-Wan’s lips tingled, he gasped for breath and managed, “Anakin?” 

Anakin stared at him, a smile flitting across his mouth. He said, “Obi-Wan.” And he pulled Obi-Wan into an embrace, clenching him desperately close. “You’re here, you came.” Obi-Wan could only hold him just as tightly, returning it in equal measure, relief coursing through him with each beat of his heart. The kiss they could discuss later. No doubt he’d just been relieved to be back--

“You’re back,” Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse, his arm curled up so he could cup the back of Anakin’s head, keeping him close, as close as possible. And he did not know how long they would have stood there, doing nothing but holding one another, if the ground had not moved beneath their feet.

As it was, Anakin jerked away, his eyes wide in the dim light, looking around the room with a bit of confusion. He said, “Wait, are we still--”

“Under the Temple,” Obi-Wan said, gripping at his arm and pulling him over to the hole where they - he and Shadow - had fallen. “Come on, I’ll explain once we’re out of here.” He could only hope, as he leapt upward, that the collapse would not bring down the entirety of the Temple on their heads.

There was no time to speak, barely any time to breathe, through the mad, headlong rush upwards. But Obi-Wan could not help glancing to the side, over and over, confirming that it was his Anakin beside him, despite the confusing nature of his greeting.

He knew those eyes, knew the way Anakin felt in the Force, knew him to the bone and blood, and each step brought with it relief. He had things to explain - the datachip still sat in his robes - but all of that could wait, all of it had to wait, until they made the final, desperate scramble up and out of the collapsing tunnels.

Obi-Wan gained solid ground a step before Anakin and twisted back, grabbing him and holding tightly to his shoulders as the passage below him simply… gave way, falling down into nothingness. 

The ground beneath them seemed stable enough. They’d made it nearly to the ground level of the Temple, Obi-Wan recognized the hall. He panted, still holding onto Anakin, choking clouds of dust swirling all around them, and said, “Well.”

Anakin laughed, sudden and punchy, looking across at him in the warm golden light of the hall, and asking, “Well? That’s all you have to say?”

Obi-Wan laughed as well, feeling shocky, a sensation he knew too well after the long years of the war, all the aches and exhaustion in his body finally making themselves known. He kept his grip on Anakin, hauling him along thoughtlessly. He could not say that he would ever want to let go of Anakin again, and Anakin seemed to agree, holding on just as tightly. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said, listening to footsteps running towards them, sure that their day was far from over, but just, for a moment, enjoying the knowledge that he’d succeeded, that Anakin was back, that, somehow, everything else would be fine. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said. “I missed you.”

Anakin shifted, drawing him to a stop, resting his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, all the troubles of the galaxy rushing towards them, an abyss behind them, and said, “Me, too, Obi-Wan.”

#

The relief of being home again settled over Anakin slowly. None of it felt completely real. Certainly the mad rush through the collapsing underlevels of the Temple felt half a dream. Seeing other Jedi, breathing in the air and tasting peace on the back of his tongue, feeling  _ Obi-Wan _ …. He’d been yearning for it all for days and felt almost like weeping to get it back.

But there was no time for that, no time to process. The world had gone mad while he was away, it seemed. He caught bits and snatches of what had happened as the Jedi scrambled about, desperately trying to stabilize the Temple, currently prevented from collapse only by the combined efforts of all the Force users within the walls.

Anakin helped, adding what remained of his strength to theirs, while troopers swarmed around, talking with one another about struts and braces and--

Anakin cared little for what they did, but apparently combat engineering had some useful applications if the support structure of an ancient Temple gave way unexpectedly, because they managed to stop the entire thing from plunging into the abyss, though, they said, everyone should evacuate and remain away until additional steps were taken.

Obi-Wan pulled him to the side, as they were told that a delegation from the Senate would be arriving to help the other Masters set off to organize the evacuation; there were so many people in the Temple to move, it promised to be a gargantuan effort. Anakin knew they should be helping, but he was both exhausted and thrumming with adrenaline, and happy to follow Obi-Wan into a side passage, where Obi-Wan said, “I have--”

He startled and fell silent, when Anakin reached out, stroking back his shorter hair, relearning the look of him. His eyes were so clear and so blue, striking, and Anakin had missed the beard. Something in his chest ached, and he had lost - perhaps - a chance to have all the things he wanted, but he found himself so relieved to be standing, again, with his Obi-Wan.

He shook the thoughts aside and said, softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just…” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, mouth quirking. “I’m… so relieved you’re back.” He reached a hand out, as well, only to stop and draw back, expression tightening. “Anakin, there’s things I must tell you. Things that happened while you were away.”

Anakin tensed, all down his back. A thousand thoughts about things that might have gone wrong sleeted through his thoughts, a hundred considerations about the actions his double might have taken, about the things he might have done to Obi-Wan…. “What things?” he demanded, the weariness in his bones temporarily pushed aside.

Obi-Wan grimaced, looking to the side. “We… we’ve discovered things. Things about Palpatine, and I know you--”

Anakin stiffened, the image of Obi-Wan on the floor,  _ screaming  _ around a gag, present in the front of his thoughts all at once. He reached out without thinking, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, cutting in, “Where is he? Did he hurt you?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him, apparently stunned speechless for the moment, and said, “No. No, not as of yet, I suppose. But we have reason to believe he’s, well, that he may--”

“He’s Dark here, too, then,” Anakin interrupted, aiming to spare Obi-Wan who, it seemed, was trying to spare  _ him _ . The other world had effectively burned out whatever defenses Anakin might once have made for the Chancellor. 

His double might have been willing to choose Palpatine over Obi-Wan, but Anakin wasn’t.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, sounding surprised. “He appears to be so. I have proof.” He withdrew a datachip from his robes. “I need to present it to the Council, but I wanted to tell you first. I know that you are fond of him, but we need to address this. I won’t ask--”

“Let’s go,” Anakin said, shifting his grip. He didn’t, he found, want Obi-Wan going anywhere. His successful return felt like a dream. He didn’t want to risk waking up, finding himself back in the other world. “We’ll tell the Council and handle it.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, still sounding off-balance, as though this entire conversation were not going the way he’d anticipated. “You don’t have to - to help with this, I can handle it.”

Anakin blinked down at him, at the concern on his expression, the worry in his eyes and-- And Obi-Wan  _ would  _ offer to willingly go face a Sith lord without Anakin there to back him up, solely on the belief that it would be what Anakin wanted and--

“We’ll do it together,” he said, turning, marching towards the sounds of conversation, and the delegation from the Senate must have arrived, because Anakin heard Palpatine’s avuncular tone, his words of concern, each one fraudulent and false. He had arrived giving no sign of his presence. Anakin could still not feel him through the Force. And his double had forced Obi-Wan to the ground, had tortured him, branded him, threatened him--

Anakin wasn’t thinking entirely clearly by the time they stepped out of the hall. He knew that their doubles were not exactly as they were. That his double from the other world, at least, was Darker. But he thought, really, they’d been more alike than different, in so many ways.

And Palpatine had threatened Obi-Wan.

The Chancellor turned, as though sensing Anakin’s approach, something Anakin would not have given any consideration before. He smiled, widely, his eyes twinkling as he said, “My boy, I’m so glad to see that you’re alright. The news of the Temple’s--”

Anakin hit him. It happened mostly without thought, beyond the knowledge that he  _ should  _ have killed the Emperor in the other world, and that if the other Obi-Wan were dead now, because Anakin had not, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

The blow landed across Palpatine’s jaw, snapping his head to the side, and Anakin grabbed for him before he could recover, ignoring the cries of alarm all around. Master Windu, approaching as Anakin twisted Palpatine’s arm back, working to secure him, demanded, “Skywalker, what are you doing?”

“He’s a Sith lord,” Anakin said, gripping tight at Palpatine’s wrist, “Obi-Wan has the proof.” Anakin had not yet seen it, but he believed Obi-Wan. In the midst of everything going mad, of the buzzing in his head - a mix of relief and wild elation - he knew only that he believed Obi-Wan.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Palpatine said, scoffing, “Anakin, you’ve been mislead, I’m only--”

“It’s right here,” Obi-Wan said, stepping up for the side and holding up a datachip. He nodded at Anakin. “And since we now have the Chancellor in custody, we may all review it together.” He hesitated, looking around, and added. “Perhaps in view of the full Senate, for the sake of--”

Palpatine  _ hissed _ in Anakin’s grip, striking out fast and brutally with the Force, like an animal cornered, Anakin supposed. The stunning impact of it tumbled Anakin back, he hit with one shoulder and rolled, coming back to his feet, the relief of finding his own saber at his belt sinking down into his bones. 

Palpatine’s saber was red, as red as it had been in the other place. He’d crossed blades with Obi-Wan, the two of them fighting in a flurry as Master Windu dove in from the other side, not even hesitating to spring into action.

Anakin felt a swell of fierce appreciation for Windu in that moment, even as he leapt forward. There were so many younglings around, so many archivists, so many people who never saw battle, trying to get out of the Temple. Anakin watched Palpatine’s gaze drift towards them and smelled lightning on the air. He snapped, “Obi-Wan!”

And Obi-Wan was already moving, even as Palpatine raised an arm, lightning caught between his fingers. The lightning hit the blade of Obi-Wan’s saber, contained. Palpatine snarled, expression awful, full of hatred, but only for a second.

Anakin had already closed with him, moving in parallel with Obi-Wan, only his saber did not catch and hold the lightning. His blade slid through flesh and bone, leaving behind the smell of burned, charred skin.

Silence fell, for a beat, as the lightning dissipated within nothing but the fading stench of ozone. Palpatine collapsed, gurgling for a moment in his chest before the noise stopped. Around them, children stared, wide-eyed. Masters, knights, padawans, who had been running forward to help, drew to a stop.

Anakin felt light-headed. Dizzy with exhaustion; he’d been so tired before the fight. He swayed, and Obi-Wan was there, putting a hand out to steady him, turning to say, “Continue the evacuation, the Council will handle this.”

Movement filtered back into the world. Movement and noise, murmured voices, cries, soft words of thanks murmured as Anakin blinked, trying to process everything that had happened. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, a hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

Anakin blinked down at him, taking in the concern in his eyes, the weariness in his expression, and thinking, at least, that he was now safe from Sith lords hiding in plain sight. “Yes,” he said, fighting the urge to slump, because there was still so much to be done. “Yes, I am.”

#

Obi-Wan did not watch the strange version of his beloved touch the dark mirror. There was no time for such a thing, not with the Emperor stepping down into the room, cloaked in robes of black, his presence stretching out to brush Obi-Wan’s skin.

He adjusted his grip on his saber, wondering if the Emperor would, or if it would be his Anakin, returning through the mirror. He hoped, grimly, that the other version of himself appreciated what he had.

One of them should have a happy ending, he thought.

It was not going to be him.

“Step aside,” the Emperor snarled, power echoing in his voice, pushing at Obi-Wan’s mind, but he had learned years ago had to withstand such brute applications of the Force. Jinnn had forced that ability on him, forced him to escape the suffocating will of another.

He adjusted his grip on his saber and said nothing, only buying time, until he felt the hot burst of Anakin’s emotions against his mind. There had been a bond, with the other Anakin, a connection between their minds as the broken strands of Obi-Wan’s connection to his Anakin sought the other side of the threads that bound them together. But it had been a pale thing, compared to his connection with his Anakin.

It flared to life, taking away the pain he’d felt for days, leaving him no longer feeling broken in two. At least, he considered, as the Emperor stepped towards him, he would have that.

At least he died whole and complete.

He did turn then, because Anakin had come back, and he wanted to  _ see _ , to take in the sight of him as he stepped away from the mirror; cracks already formed across its surface. He panted, exhaustion raging through him, “Beloved,” and could not help the smile on his mouth, even if these were to be his last moments.

Anakin reached him in seconds, concern and anger flickering across his expression as he looked, hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, brief touches against wounds. He demanded, hot fury burbling within him - he’d never liked seeing Obi-Wan hurt, “What happened?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and was interrupted.

“Anakin!” the Emperor called, voice ringing out sharp and terrible. Obi-Wan grimaced, looking back towards his hateful form. He looked well enough, for a man who caught a blaster bolt only hours ago. But then, he had always known how to recover quickly, drawing on the Force to mend the damage to his body. “A traitor stands before you!”

Underfoot, the floor shifted. Obi-Wan wondered if the entire complex would come down. He found he would not mind that thought, so much. The Temple held few good memories for him. The halls reminded him too much of Jinn, of--

Of things he’d rather not consider in his last moments.

Anakin frowned, grip tightening on Obi-Wan, and he looked…  _ himself _ , again, eyes red and fierce, expression sharp. Obi-Wan’s chest ached with sharp relief. At least he got to see Anakin again, as he was supposed to be. At least he’d brought Anakin back home, no matter what came next.

Anakin cocked his head to the side and asked, as the ground lurched beneath them, “A traitor? Where?”

“Kenobi!” the Emperor hissed, stalking towards them, ignoring the rocks falling from the ceiling. “The attempted assassin! Strike him down, now,” he said, his tone changing to something smooth, pleasant to the ear, “after all, it is past time you joined me.”

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, gaze searching, and then flashed him a smile, that familiar, wild expression flitting across his face. The other Anakin rarely smiled so, so restrained and different. 

“Surely,” Anakin said, taking a step forward, towards the Emperor, hands sliding off Obi-Wan’s skin, stripping the lightsaber from his grip as he went, “we should do it together?”

Palpatine’s smile was that of a corpse, terrible and spreading, showing his teeth. “Yes,” he said, his eyes rotted yellow. He reached a hand out to Anakin, welcoming. Obi-Wan braced, knowing what must come next. “Come, dear boy, let us--”

The sound of a lightsaber igniting caught him off of his guard. Palpatine, too, by the soft sound he made, by the way he glanced down, slowly, at the blade piercing his chest, front to back. Anakin flicked the blade to the side, drew it up and across, and Obi-Wan stared, uncomprehending, as the Emperor’s head fell, rolling to the side.

“Anakin?” he asked, watching the rocks plunge around them, barely noticing it, unsure  _ what was happening _ \--

And Anakin straightened from grabbing the head, smiled at him, wolfish, and said, “Come on, the whole place is coming down.” He reached out a hand, beckoning, and Obi-Wan could not help but take it, could not help but run beside him, up and out of the collapsing tunnels, a thousand questions in his mind, but he had no time to speak them.

There was no time to do anything but struggle upwards, feeling Anakin’s hand in his, his grip tight and sure, as though he never intended to let go again.

They came to a stumbling stop in the halls of the Temple; Obi-Wan could feel the concentration of the other Jedi, holding the place together. There were troopers all around, well armed, but only standing. They had, evidently, received no further orders.

And now they would not, Obi-Wan thought, shivering, for the Emperor was dead, and Anakin held his severed head. A fact that had not escaped the notice of the other Jedi, who were turning already to look at them, a thousand emotions swirling around them, and--

And Anakin took a step forward, tossing the head out towards the center of the great hall, his expression all sharp edges around the blazing light of his eyes. “The Emperor is dead,” he said, his voice filling all the tremendous space of the hall.

All eyes were on him, including Obi-Wan’s. He could not look away, considering, all at once, Anakin’s height, the power he held over the Force, his strength and will and-- And perhaps Obi-Wan should have seen this coming, perhaps Anakin had only been waiting to take power for himself. He’d always valued control, in all its shapes and forms--

Anakin took a step forward, into that space where everyone seemed to be holding their breath, and then turned, met Obi-Wan’s gaze, and smiled again. “Long live the Emperor,” he said, louder, his voice echoing as he dropped to one knee, head tilting to the side.

Obi-Wan stared at him, heart lurching in his chest, feeling the air ripple around them as, one after another, the other Jedi echoed him.

None would argue. Not with Anakin, not if he stood beside Obi-Wan.

They all knew how strong he was, they all--

Obi-Wan stretched out a hand, his thoughts a churning maelstrom that he was struggling to stay ahead of. He had expected so many things, his own death foremost among them. But he was nothing if not able to adjust, to reshape his plans. Anakin took his hand and pushed back to his feet, still wearing that smile.

Obi-Wan’s heart raced, but he kept his expression as still as possible, thinking about the Rebellion, about all his careful plans, about Amidala, about Organa, about-- About Anakin, standing before him, shifting closer and murmuring, “I’ve missed you, my Emperor.”

Obi-Wan shivered down his spine, a thousand opportunities opening before him, sharp pleasure and satisfaction aching in his bones as he reached up, curling a hand around the back of Anakin’s neck, drawing him down.

“Leave me not again,” he said, in the breath before Anakin kissed him, properly, giving him all that he had missed and yearned for over the last days. 

#

There really was so much to do. Anakin passed through the coming hours in a daze, standing by Obi-Wan’s side as the Council reviewed the proof gathered against Palpatine. The entirety of the Council traveled to the Senate to present it; Anakin came along. No one seemed to question his presence.

He was there as the murmurs spread throughout the great chamber. He was there, sensing panic and confusion and fear. He was there, when the assembly was brought slowly to order and Senator Organa was sworn in as Chancellor.

They did not stay for the whole session. It seemed best. He got the feeling that the Senate had much work to do. By the time they finished, the Temple had been emptied, standing hollow and glowing in the midst of Coruscant. Anakin stared at it, as they moved through traffic, thinking of the Sith temple below it, of Palpatine, of everything he had learned and seen….

He said nothing, lost in his own thoughts, and neither did Obi-Wan, who fell asleep against his shoulder as they flew. Anakin shifted a little, trying to make him more comfortable, and closed his eyes, trusting that they would be taken where they needed to be, too tired to worry more about it.

They ended up in a shuttle - apparently the one Obi-Wan had taken to Coruscant - in the end, too tired after days of effort to do anything but fall directly to sleep. Anakin followed Obi-Wan to his quarters without thought - a few days had left him with habits, it seemed - and Obi-Wan did not complain when they collapsed beside one another, in fact, he rolled onto his side and shifted to rest against Anakin’s chest and--

And Anakin felt a brief flash of anger at another him, somewhere far away, who had gotten Obi-Wan used to such intimacy, but exhaustion drowned it out.

He woke the next morning after a sleep completely and totally free of nightmares, breathing in and stretching slowly, listening to the sonic shower run in the fresher, running his hand down the sheets, where Obi-Wan’s warmth lingered.

The other Obi-Wan had told him to take what he wanted, if he truly desired to have it. The universe did not give gifts for free, he’d said.

Anakin shook his head when the sonic shower stopped, sitting as Obi-Wan reentered the room, pulling his tunic on, and said, “Oh, you’re awake.”

“I’m awake.” Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, hungry to see him looking himself again, to see his blue eyes and beard and shorter hair and-- All he was. Obi-Wan stared back, just as openly. Anakin’s fingers clenched in the sheets. He thought about all the things he wanted and looked to the side. “And filthy.”

“Use the fresher,” Obi-Wan said, and it seemed strange, the pointless, calm conversation, with everything Anakin felt sitting between them. “I’ll get us breakfast,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin nodded, hundreds of words behind his teeth as he walked to the fresher, scrubbing at his skin fiercely, wanting to get… everything off.

He felt better when he stepped out again, when he found a spread of breakfast on the table in the common room of the shuttle. Obi-Wan was sitting in a chair, holding a cup of tea, staring at nothing with a strange expression on his face. He looked up when Anakin entered and smiled, beauteously; wants climbed around through Anakin’s skull.

He pushed them down, drew out a chair, and sat. He put food on his plate. Poured a cup of tea. The little acts of normalcy steadied him inside, each one healing some torn wound he had not even noticed, letting him breathe deeper, letting his heart rate slow down.

He managed to ask, midway through the meal, “So. Did I miss anything else?”

Obi-Wan huffed a laugh, leaning back in his chair, and Anakin looked at him, watched him as he laid out the story of the past few days. Anakin interjected, here and there, the shape of his own experience unfolding between them. Obi-Wan sighed, as they drew to the close, and said, “I am sorry about Palpatine. I know you were fond of him.”

Anakin expected to feel…. Something like horror. Anger, perhaps. The Chancellor had been, he’d thought, his friend for years. But perhaps that feeling had been burned out of him, unable to survive all he’d learned about the alternate version of Palpatine, unable to survive watching a version of him hurting a version of Obi-Wan. “It’s alright.”

“I thought you’d be angry,” Obi-Wan said, turning his cup in his hands, a thoughtful look in his eyes, cut to the side.

“Maybe I would have been,” Anakin said, trying to imagine what it would have felt like to be told Palpatine was a Sith, even a few days ago. He wondered if he would have denied it, even supplied with evidence. He wondered…. Everything seemed different, his perspective altered and changed by what he had seen. “But…” He shrugged. “I think I see the world a bit more clearly, now. Things were so different there. But...” he swallowed. 

Seeing such a broken version of all he loved had reached into his chest and changed the shape of him. He could not shake the feeling that everything could go wrong, somehow, and turn his world into that alternate place, if he were not careful. “But I could almost see how they got that way. How  _ easy  _ it would be to - to be like them. And I don’t want that, Obi-Wan. I want things to be better.”

“They will be,” Obi-Wan said, glancing at him and then away once more, something shuttering, quickly, in his expression. He said, “We should find out what’s been happening, I suppose.” He stood, suddenly purposeful. Anakin shivered and set his cup down, considering, still, everything that place had taught him.

And if it had taught him nothing else…

He blew out a breath and said, quietly, before Obi-Wan could move any further away, “I missed you.”

Obi-Wan went still, all over. He said, frozen by the table, his voice almost a rasp, “I missed you, as well, Anakin. I--I’m beyond relieved that you’ve returned safely.”

Anakin nodded, and for a moment he considered leaving it there. Retreating back with the reassurance that Obi-Wan cared for him in some way. He would have, before. He had, so many times before. He’d been sure that pushing any further would be a mistake.

But the universe gave nothing as a gift.

He looked up, found Obi-Wan watching him already, something strange in his expression, and said, “I learned things over there. How delicate… all of this is. How easily it could be ruined. But. But.” He swallowed. “But it wasn’t all… just darkness. There was love there, too. Even with - with everything. The other me and you--” Obi-Wan sucked in a little breath, stiffening, and oh, he had to know where this was going, didn’t he? “--the other me, he loved his Obi-Wan, completely and totally.”

And the other Obi-Wan had loved him, too.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, frowning, reaching out to straighten their plates and cups. Anakin rose as well, taking one of his hands, stiling him. Obi-Wan shivered, Anakin felt it, the shudder up through his skin. “I know very well how he felt, but…”

Obi-Wan trailed off, giving Anakin enough time to think about how he would  _ know  _ how the other Anakin felt. But then, Anakin had slid back into this world with Obi-Wan already in his arms, hadn’t he? Holding him, in the midst of taking a kiss? 

He’d been kissing Obi-Wan  _ like he meant it _ . The other him had-- Obi-Wan looked to the side, expression tense when he finally continued, “And I don’t want you to think that I expect you to--I know you don’t--I’d never pressure you to--”

Anakin cut in, quietly, his heart suddenly jerking in his chest, aching with watching Obi-Wan stumble for what to say, “Look at me, please, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan raised his gaze, his eyes the clear blue that Anakin had loved for so long, that he’d missed desperately for days. He said, thinking about taking what he wanted, about gifts, about the universe, “Some things are the same everywhere, I guess.”

And he bent, listening to Obi-Wan make a soft, almost hurt sound, in the second before Anakin kissed him. Obi-Wan froze under his touch, standing there, eyes wide when Anakin shifted back a breath, his chest aching with grief, for Obi-Wan had not kissed him back. He asked, quietly, already accepting that perhaps he had lost all chances to touch Obi-Wan this way, “Or maybe they aren’t. If you don’t--”

Obi-Wan pushed closer, all at once. Anakin minded little being cut off, not with Obi-Wan in his arms, the  _ right  _ Obi-Wan, slanting their mouths together and  _ oh _ . Oh, it lacked some of the forcefulness, the finesse of the other Obi-Wan, but it was--

Everything he’d wanted for so many years, or at least the start of it. He carded his fingers back through Obi-Wan’s hair, held him just so, and kissing him _ was  _ different with the beard, but he found he liked it, the contrast of it, he liked the way Obi-Wan gripped at the front of his robes and leaned into him, liked the way his eyes fluttered shut, liked the sound he made when Anakin curled an arm around him.

They swayed, Anakin losing track of everything in the ship except for Obi-Wan, and bumped into the table, knocking one of the cups off of the side. It banged off of the floor, and Obi-Wan jerked to look at it, saying something about a mess that Anakin barely registered.

He started to turn, and Anakin caught him back, murmuring, “Leave it, Obi-Wan, it’ll keep.”

Obi-Wan nodded, stilled, looked up at him. The distraction had beaten back some of the heat between them, left Anakin aching with it, his hand still fitted against Obi-Wan’s neck, close enough to feel his warmth, to simply luxuriate in his presence.

He said, quietly, “I love you. I don’t think there’s a world out there where I don’t, where I couldn’t. Will you have me?”

Obi-Wan’s breath caught, just for a moment, his gaze searching, apparently finding what he was looking for, because he rasped, “Yes.”

And perhaps they should have spoken more. Perhaps there were discussions to be had, perhaps--

But the want Anakin felt had been building for years, had been in the forefront of his thoughts for days, unable to be put to the side or barred from consideration. He groaned, helplessly, closing the distance between them, needing to kiss Obi-Wan properly, needing to feel the way Obi-Wan gasped against his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders.

He’d wasted time, so much of it, throughout his life, throughout the war, in the alternate world. He was tired of delaying and courting regret. He took a step back, drawing Obi-Wan along, thinking of their still-disheveled bunk, about Obi-Wan spread out across it, hands pulling at Obi-Wan’s tunic, hunger raging through him.

They left a trail of clothes behind them. Anakin hoped that they’d locked the ship, but could not bring himself to  _ care _ . Obi-Wan’s skin was so familiar, well known even before the last few days, but  _ right _ . There was no brand on the back of his neck, raised under Anakin’s fingers. No scars from Force lightning across his shoulders when Anakin fanned out his fingers, no dark marks stained at his hips or throat.

Not yet, anyway.

Anakin looked over him, hungrily, settling his hands at Obi-Wan’s hips, just for a moment, and, oh, his fingers fitted there just as well as he’d known they would - as he’d seen they would, in another world. He surged forward, Obi-Wan’s hands on his bare skin, pulling him closer,  _ welcoming  _ him, and--

And Anakin could get distracted kissing him for hours, for days, maybe, with feeling skin against his, learning his body through touch, not just sight, tracing the line of his throat, the sweep of his collarbone, kissing each freckle down his arm, to his palm.

Obi-Wan took the opportunity to curl fingers into his hair, to pull him back for another kiss, and something in Anakin snapped at the tenderness of his expression, the softness of his mouth. He pushed the final step forward, twisting as they tumbled to the bed to sprawl Obi-Wan over him, his skin warm and soft and flushed everywhere Anakin looked.

Obi-Wan froze against him, shifting enough to murmur against Anakin’s mouth, his cheeks stained red, “I don’t know--Anakin, I’ve not--”

And Anakin had to kiss him again, groaning at the thought of him  _ not knowing _ , apparently his double hadn’t gotten very far at all, apparently-- Apparently Anakin got to be the first - the  _ only, _ if he were going to get any say in the matter - promising, “I know, don’t worry.”

Obi-Wan nodded, so much trust in his expression and  _ that  _ was something Anakin had not seen in the other world, something he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed. Something he would do anything to be worthy of, making himself slow down, taking his time, lingering on each kiss, each caress, until Obi-Wan had melted against him, breath hitching and skin flushed hot all over, crying out raggedly when Anakin finally touched his cock.

Obi-Wan buried his face against Anakin’s shoulder, when he got close, panting out his name, a shout torn from his throat when he fell over the edge and- and Anakin held him through it, stroking a hand up and down his back, feeling half-drunk, stunned himself.

The universe truly did not give gifts, but, he considered, shifting to sprawl Obi-Wan down across the tangled blankets, that didn’t mean the gifts weren’t there for the taking. He kissed Obi-Wan’s panting, open mouth, sank against him, and, as the future changed around them, he took all the things he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! You can also find me over on tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glimmerglanger)


End file.
